is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
Coincidence? I think not.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
I don't want to admit it and I don't want to have it, but there are still boxes of stuff sitting in my otherwise lovely (OK, laundry-ridden and slightly more dusty than I'd like, but still lovely) home. Of course, clutter is never just about having crap to step over. It's about have crap to deal with. Most of the time, whether it is painful or trivial or symbolic or ancient history, it is also the things we don't want to admit or have but still do have to sort through at some point.
One little plastic tub at a time, I am trying to get through it all. I refuse to take it to the storage space in the basement or even shove it into a closet or corner for too long. I feel like this all needs to be out so I see it, so I am forced at some point to stop walking over, around and away from it and just dig in.
After I finally packed up the Christmas ornaments and stockings, I decided to clean out one box sitting patiently in my hallway. I was actually happy to find things I was happy to get rid of, dropping dusty baskets of silk flowers into the trash and half-used notepads into recycling. But I stopped when I saw a collection of pottery I painted back before I was married and I was living in Oregon.
It was a stress relief for me during the time of teaching at a local college during the day and waiting tables full of my students at night. I could sit with one of my favorite friends and laugh and gossip, or just sit alone and paint quietly, releasing the tension in my shoulders and hours away from the restaurant and campus.
One of the things I painted was a plaque that hung above the door in the three apartments I lived in with the Ex (the Ex, not the Almost Ex, the Ex...it makes me a little giddy to type this aloud). Just to the left of being perfectly centered, it said, "Bless this home." It was decorated with flowers and pretty little touches that distracted me from the sloping gold corduroy chair I had to make a eyebrow-raising deal to get rid of before we moved from Oregon to Chicago. I liked passing under it, even if it wasn't my best example of artistry. I liked the validation of feeling blessed as I entered and exited our home.
When I found that plaque in the box, I had some sadness and perhaps even a touch of sadness. I am blessed to live in the home I have now and I have no desire to return emotionally or otherwise to the places where I once lived. But it just so happens that I have an empty space above the front stairs that I've been wanting to fill with some kind of peaceful or kind or prayerful message that I will be reminded of as I come and go from here.
I debated. Should I hang it in that space? Would it be a nod to how blessed I am in this home and every place I have lived along the way? Or would it just be a reminder of all that was? Would it just remind me that I painted it for the us that no longer is?
I decided to wait to decide all that. I put it on top of the Christmas box and went back to the rest of the clutter in front of me. When I was done and had cleared out a trash bin full of incidentals, I put a hand on top of the Christmas box, leaned my hip into it and pushed it down the hall and out of my way. When I was sure it was all steadied and settled, I turned, flipped off the light and walked away.
That's when I heard the clank and roll and spin and thud of pottery on the hardwood floor. I knew without turning back that the plaque was broken and the decision was made.
Of course, like all clutter, it had to be cleaned up. Little shards lined the baseboards and big pieces of my blessing sign lay in a small pile in the center of the hall. And you know, I was relieved. Maybe because I didn't have to make the decision. Maybe because there was no saving it. Maybe because I wouldn't have to look at it anymore, moving about my new place.
There is more to go through, but that box is empty now and we are quite clearly no less blessed.
Reader Comments (5)
Amazing how purging houselhold clutter can so positively effect our spirits. As written in my post yesterday, I think our homes can represent what's going on in our lives.
so glad i got the last two words of that right, i had to retype several times, kept typing "big breasts", stupid Y chromosome