Broaching Deep Storage …..

It’s not so easy to write about decluttering when I’m in the middle of doing it.

Earlier this month I spent a couple of weeks away from home helping a friend prepare to put her farm on the market by sorting through a garage full of stored stuff left behind by her grown children and departed husband and in-laws.  It was hard, concentrated work, a different sort of decluttering because none of the stuff was in any way mine.  My sorting decisions had to be definitive but very conservative.  My accomplishment was to have sorted the contents of that garage into piles: Donate, Recycle, Offer to friends, Requires Family Decision.  She rented a dumpster for outright trash…

I arrived home exhausted just three days before our village fire department’s rummage sale fund-raiser.  The American Declutterer’s decree, Opportunities to Declutter Must Never be Passed Over, held.  My husband found three boxes of stuff and two old chairs to donate to this community effort.

And with that, the third round of my decluttering of our home began.

This third round is no longer about working to free up the living spaces or to make room for scheduled furniture deliveries.  By now our living spaces are filled only with things we actually love and use.  This time my objective is to tackle the three deep storage areas which are all stuffed full of untended history.

Today I ventured down to the most accessible of these areas and unearthed five substantial cartons of books of all sorts — some from college course taken fifty years ago; another box of old clothes; a box containing eight large spindles of an unfamiliar kind of yarn in various shades of yellow; a jumble of bent, broken, tarnished, dirty and cracked kitchen implements and Tupperware which spilled all over the place when its box disintegrated; and a box neatly labelled “bubble paper.”  It did indeed contain nothing but used bubble wrap.

Today’s rhetorical question is WHY on God’s green earth do people fill Deep Storage with stuff that time will ruin, or that was ruined in the first place, or that can serve no earthly purpose while sitting in a dark place for decades?  I know.  I know.  It was once precious.  Someday it might be needed.  And face it.  Very few people have compassion on the somebody who is going to have to deal with that mountain after they are gone.

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Treasures in the Trash

“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt…” (Matthew 6:19)

That, my friends, (Matthew 6:19a) is my current motto.  I’ve been working in a damp garage.  In the garage, alongside the riding mower, are three sturdy wooden boxes, each of which once shipped an adult-sized coffin, so, three coffin coffins, if you will….

l was set to learn what had been stored in them and deal with it.  First lesson, damp and mold.  Second lesson, dead mice and their nests; third, insect larvae.  These creatures had lodged themselves in and among numerous cartons of books tucked into the coffin coffins; mostly paperback remnants of three children’s growing reading habits from Little Red Riding Hood through Hardy Boys mysteries, science fiction and required literature for high school.

I moved those filthy musty books out to the rented dumpster, one wheelbarrow load at a time.

Hard thoughts:

I knew many of those books, so the stories echoed in my head.  I remembered packing up my own worn but clean books to hand down to younger children, and I was sad and angry that these had been left to decay.  It is hard work to remove piles upon piles of things that have been stuffed into boxes and cabinets; left behind half forgotten and untended.

It is even harder to realize that my friends had stored them there believing that the coffin coffins would keep them safe, sound, and secure to be enjoyed in future by well-loved grandchildren.

Friends with treasures: please be very careful of how you store your legacy.

But can you believe it?

I think you can.

An Amish family came to ask whether they might take some of those books for their school.  They understood about the smells and the mice and the beetles.  They think they can clean them.

Well yes!  If you really want those smelly books….

And in a twinkling of an eye a small army of Amish boys and their mother were sorting through that dumpster.

“…but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven….”

One person’s trash is another’s treasure…..

 

 

 

Taking This Show On the Road

A few days ago I had a message from a reader who loved my motto,”Just Get Rid Of It.”

The writer explained the great benefits of creating good digital photos of the memories then just getting rid of the stuff.  Digital photos don’t take up space…

That same day I saw pictures of art created from someone’s mother’s old costume jewelry.  That writer loved having all the memories collected into a compact and beautiful piece.

And once I knew someone who would get rid of the trappings of time past by carefully burning them while praying for those who had gone on.

The interesting thing is the writer had picked up that “motto” from a story in which I was writing about the difficulties of Just Getting Rid Of Stuff when opinions within a family may differ about the trash vs. the treasures.

On the other hand, I do tend to be unsentimental about physical emblems of my history; these days I do tend to get rid of stuff before it becomes clutter.  The important thing for each declutterer, I believe, is to honor the memories, and all who share them, while releasing the stuff.

A few weeks ago an old friend offered me my first job as a decluttering consultant.  Literally.  She started the conversation by asking what I would charge to come help her dispatch stuff from two homes and some outbuildings in preparation for putting the property on the market…

WELL!  The imp on my shoulder immediately assured me that I am a SCHOLAR of decluttering, a pundit, a writer of blogposts! and not someone who would actually go into the business physically decluttering other people’s stuff!  The apprentice imp beside him whispered reminders that I shouldn’t forget that still have three more deep storage areas of my own to tend to this summer!

Well.

Of course I’m heading out to help my friend!

She’s my FRIEND…

By the time you read this I will be off in a land with only spotty Internet, helping her to sort a lifetime of belongings memories into Things to Sell, Things to Donate, Things to Store (Because the Kids SAID They Want Them), a very few Things to Keep, and Things to Trash.

But I do NOT intend to make a business of this….

(“SURE you don’t!!!!!,” jibes the imp on my shoulder.)

Decluttering Virtual Space

The other night I spent five hours clearing out email from the work account I had for the nine years before I retired.

The account only allows deletion of one email at a time, there is no key for a group check off.

Each one has to be deleted at least twice, first from “Read” or “Sent” and then from “Trash,” before it is completely gone.

While some accounts automatically “empty the trash” every three months or so, this account doesn’t.  It was all there.  So into the virtual dumpster I dove.

In particular, I tackled the email folders I’d set up to record activity to be documented in my periodic professional review portfolios.

These portfolios are intended to provide Evidence of Excellence in Teaching; Evidence of Service Rendered to Department, University, Community, and to My Discipline; and Evidence of Continuing Scholarly Activity and Professional Development.

Looking over those messages, reliving those hard-fought battles and concerted efforts was much harder than going through a house full of old keepsakes.

I found:

  • bittersweet documentation of hauling students to academic safety — and a few to even higher ground,
  • reports of painstaking research conducted to provide (mandated) faculty input about university-wide problems (the solutions, we learned in the end, had been decided long before our reports were filed),
  • notes from harried organizers gushing thanks for my service as a judge of project posters or essays for national scholarship contests
  • carefully transmitted instructions for each of six consecutive years spent as a program director, reviewing student submissions for a regional research conference
  • three invitations from far-flung colleagues to present formal talks about my research, and personal notes of thanks for having contributed those colloquia presentations
  • respectful requests from attendees for copies of my presentation notes and asking for suggestions for further reading,
  • an acceptance of a proposal for an article I hoped to write for a professional journal — and also my anguished withdrawal from the submission process…

But perhaps the most poignant of all was the email to submit a packet of application materials I’d compiled to nominate a respected colleague for a regional teaching award.  Which he won.

But you know….

I don’t need to compile self-congratulatory notebooks anymore.

Files documenting my  mathematical work are safely tucked far away from my emails.

All the service activity is noted in my curriculum vitae.

I’m real-life friends with many former students.

I dispatched all of these ghosts to the ether.

Difficult Decluttering Isn’t Easy…..

This morning a friend who has been following my blog sent me a link to a source for a set of three collapsible canvas hampers marked, “Give Away,” “Put Away,” and “Throw Away” which purported to be The Solution  to deal with Procrastination, the impediment that the vendor would have us believe is the principal deterrent to decluttering our homes…

I replied to my friend’s message thusly:

“The reason any of us procrastinate the EASY decluttering, the sorting of our own stuff — stuff on which nobody else has a claim — may be the lack of decluttering equipment, although I’ve always found that a box of 30-gallon trash bags does the trick very nicely.  Plus, the bags disappear with the clutter and don’t become clutter themselves, as those containers would do, and 30-gallon trash bags don’t sit around forever proclaiming that we will NEVER be finished with decluttering.”

But I don’t believe it is the lack of cute or appropriate equipment that is the reason we procrastinate EASY decluttering.  I believe we put off decluttering our personal stuff because we don’t need to do it.  That is, until we’re going to move house, or until we really need the space — for a new baby; or maybe to set up our new weaving loom…

But…

The main thing this blog is concerned with is DIFFICULT decluttering; decluttering which no sweetly organized how-to steps, no helpful charts, no colorfully marked bins, no dumpster contracts can ever help to get done.

DIFFICULT decluttering is decluttering stuff to which another living person has ties.

The reason that kind of decluttering is difficult is that it cannot even begin without mutual consent. But absolutely nobody can ever MAKE anyone else DO anything, let alone make anyone else feel any urgency about doing it NOW.

DIFFICULT decluttering is a matter of developing enough negotiating technique, enough love and respect, enough sense of shared purpose, that all the people involved agree that it must be done, when it must be done, and how it must be done.

DIFFICULT decluttering is difficult because nobody, no matter how inconvenienced or irritated, may give away, throw away, or even put away another person’s stuff without mutual agreement.

DIFFICULT decluttering gets stalled when one or another person doesn’t want to deal with it, when the stuff isn’t actually bothering one of them, or when the task is so physically or emotionally overwhelming that they don’t know how to get started.

DIFFICULT decluttering is about dealing with a whole lot of emotions — all the emotions tied up with the stuff, plus all the emotions tied up in family relations.

I think that DIFFICULT decluttering becomes easier when we share our stories.  That is what this blog is about.

Stashes and Reusables and the need for a vision

My husband’s grandmother refused to let anyone throw away gift wrap, ribbons, boxes, cards…  My husband’s first wife was disinclined to even after her grandmother-in-law passed on.

A few months after we married we spent five weeks dedicated to preparing his house for my stuff to move in the following summer.  First went the carloads of his deceased wife’s clothing and accessories to the thrift stores.  Then, my husband asked me to “make some sense,” if I could, of the mountains of Christmas stuff piled into boxes and bags.

As nearly as I could tell, each Christmas for twenty or thirty years, presents were opened after which all that year’s gift tags, wrappings and disposables were tossed into a bag which was tossed onto the heap forevermore out of sight and out of mind.  And so I began to work through the archeological dig.

I spent a week separating gift wrap from cards from tissue paper from ribbons from gift boxes from stuff intended as secret Santa gifts from half-eaten canisters of peanut brittle, open boxes of candy canes and an occasional pipe cleaner or evaporated bottle of perfume.  I sorted the wrapping materials into “that which is hopelessly defaced” and “that which could conceivably be reused if we live long enough.”  In the end I had it all sorted into “keep (for now)” and “utter garbage among which I am grateful I found no mice carcasses.”  The indisputable garbage was removed.

Five months later it was time to sort my own belongings for the great move.  Among other things I had a mountain of yarn.  And in the midst of the gathering of homespuns, dreamy stuff and  projects-in-process (or at least firmly in mind) there were skeins I’d intended, thirty years ago, to knit into vests for my brothers, piles of sale yarn in odd colors, yarns of various fibers I later discovered I hate to work with…

Don’t throw anything away.  It’s GOT to be good for something someday!

I have two friends to whom I am deeply indebted.  Between them they took banker’ boxes full of all of my collected “I don’t know about this stuff” yarn.

I got to work finishing up two big projects to send off to other friends.  In the end, the stash I sent across the country is yarn-with-vision; materials for which I have plans — and projected timelines — already firmly in mind.

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The featured image of the day is about two-thirds of the stash I sent across the Great Plains, a desert and two mountain ranges.  You’re looking at some prayer shawls and socks to be…..

Re-Cycling. Envisioning. Imagining.

A couple of days ago I was in a beautiful shop full of high end beautifully colored yarn, of masterful knitted samples to show how the yarn looks made up, and wonderful people making beautiful things in a knitting class.  My eyes were full of happiness.

Beautiful as it all was, I didn’t buy anything.  I had no vision for how, or what, I would make with any of it.

At home, I have four imaginative projects underway, two un-begun sweaters and a lap robe waiting in the wings, and an array of materials intended for learning how to make socks and knitted lace shawls.

But it wasn’t this sufficiency that held me back from buying more yarn.

It was, quite simply, that beauty alone is no longer enough to entice me;  I couldn’t imagine how I would use any of that beautiful yarn so there was no attraction.

Forty years ago, after my grandmother had passed away, my aunt and I came across a basket filled with a project in progress.  There were little knitted swatches with notes pinned to them: “snout,” “paw,” “ear,” and so forth.  She had been making a toy…  We sensed her spirit so alive in those bits of the project.  My aunt could see how it should look and took it to finish up.

A couple of years after my mother died, my father enlisted my help to empty his hall closet.  He’d saved aside the linens that were in active use.  But what, he wondered,  should be done with all the other stuff?

My mother loved to sew.  After a particularly difficult day at her office, she would stop in at a fabric store near her office.  The hall closet was chock full of lovely fabric samples…  But I don’t sew.

A colleague of mine’s eyes lit up when I described the stash. She took it all to her sewing circle where the fabric samples were snatched up by the ladies who each knew exactly what she would do with her selection.

A couple of days ago I began talking to a guy who owns a bike shop.  He had an absolutely perfectly beautiful “Brooklyn Cruiser” on display: a floor model marked down to half its original price.  One glimpse of this marvelous machine and in my mind’s eye I was tooling around bits of California on that so very aptly named, strong-framed, three speed with coaster brakes.

I’d probably have bought it on the spot, but the dang thing turned out to be too big for me ….  So he’s going to look around to find me something that will attract my love, suit my height, and fit the pocketbook.

I asked whether I might talk trade with him about my dusty old ten-speed racer…

“Sure!” he said, “Bring it by.  You never know what might be worth something…

“One man’s junk is another man’s treasure!”