DOWNSIZING, HARDER THAN IT SOUNDS………….by Pat Whalley
We spend the first half of our married life building our homes and our memories, the second half we spend trying to get rid some of the accumulated clutter, usually unsuccessfully.
Most young couples start out in either rented accommodation or a small home and gradually fill the space with all the little bits and pieces that turn a house into a home. This is quite often the woman’s domain as most guys are happy with a big comfy chair, a tv and a remote, the rest is just icing on his piece of cake. Women, however, love to find all those little bits of art work and decorative knick-knacks that add their touch of individuality to the home.
I think that my husband is typical of most men, as long as the house is not noticeably messy, meals miraculously appear at regularly intervals and his honey-do list is not too long, he is a happy chap. He doesn’t say too much about the bits and pieces of décor that I bring in and admire. When asked for his opinion of a newly purchased item, he will usually say that it is OK. When pressed he will go as far as to say “very nice”, however, he has been heard to mutter something about “a piece of crap”, in very low tones. I put this down to his lack of appreciation in all things decorative but, as long as the acquisition makes me happy and doesn’t change the status quo, he puts up with most things.
Many of the little pieces we have around the house have been picked up in travels to other countries and were little reminders of places we had seen. An easy way of collecting trophies from foreign parts is to buy cushion covers. These take very little room in a suitcase and can be stacked on the bed or chair without being too obvious. They also do not need dusting, a past-time I get more reluctant to perform as I age!
About ten years ago, for some reason, I started to feel a little different about my possessions. I realized that I really did not want as much clutter around me. I still enjoyed looking at my “treasures” but did not think of them in the same way as I once did. However, deciding which to toss or keep is no easy decision, in fact, it is almost impossible.
Start with coffee mugs…seems easy enough to take a dozen, or more, to the thrift store. However once assembled on the kitchen counter, I dither about and cannot make a decision. This one has lost a lot of its outer gloss, due to age and the dishwasher, but it was given to Dave by his mom. It is a cream coloured mug with brown writing on it, the writing says “quiet, I’m thinking” which totally suits Dave. He will sit for hours staring at his computer screen or just staring into a void, his thoughts a million miles away. When asked what he is doing, he is “just thinking”. His lovely mom, my best friend in all my life, has been gone from us for over thirty years. Taken at just 69 by a rampaging cancer, she left an enormous void that has not much lessened in all this time. How can I possible toss this cup?
Most of the mugs have been given to us by friends or family and I can remember when each one arrived, no particularly spectacular occasion but each one is a memory and goes back into the cupboard. I finally find one mug that has no particular memory but I like the shape of it and it feels nice in my hands. I could get rid of this one, but it seems silly to give away just one, so I keep it.
At one time I had dozens of little porcelain animals that depicted the different seasons, these I managed to unload onto various granddaughters, while they were young enough to enjoy them. These used to be all sitting on the five windowsills in the kitchen nook. Once I ruthlessly got rid of the assorted miniatures, I bought three bright blue, glass jars to replace them. The deep blue reflects the morning sun and brightens up the entire kitchen. However, my friends got the idea that I was collecting blue glass and over the past five years I have been given an assortment of over fifty beautiful, blue glass bottles I really do love the colours but, to remove them to the sink for washing, then drying them, washing and drying windowsills and returning all back to their position, takes the whole morning, so the job doesn’t get done as often as it should be. Did I mention that my joy in housekeeping has also diminished over the years?
Although Dave is not a collector of decorative items, he is certainly a hoarder of sorts. When we travel he collects leaflets, maps, guide books and written information of any kind. In England, this is generally referred to as Bumf. I don’t know if this is the correct spelling of the word, which I believe originated during the war. However, it refers to piles of printed matter, probably governmental, that is stored forever.
On a trip to Australia several years ago, he collected so much bumf that he discarded six pairs of new socks and six pairs of new underwear, acquired specially for the trip, in order to get all his paperwork packed. Needless to say, I was less than pleased at this news and remind him of it during arguments. Not for any particular reason, I just don’t like him to forget his transgressions!
His stash of paperwork, plus over a thousand books, bits of electrical gadgets that need fixing, odd wires, empty boxes that may be needed someday, several printers and some old computers, plus various tools that have not been returned to the garage, are competing for space on desks, shelves and the floor. A small canon ball is used as a door stopper, so visitors can be treated to the scene inside his treasure room. When the house was built he requested no closet in this bedroom as he wanted the room to be entirely shelved. This he did and the small space between top of the bookshelves and the ceiling is decorated with C.D.’s, maps and various awards. Because all surfaces are full, he has a couple of card tables to try and take the overflow, however, there is still an ample supply that lives permanently on the floor. This is Dave’s room and I leave him in peace as long as the clutter doesn’t creep out into the living areas of the home. However, every now and again I give him the ultimatum of tidying up or I will do it for him. As my method of tidying begins with a garbage bag, he will usually make some sort of attempt to reduce the clutter.
The garage is also Dave’s domain and it is in a similar condition to his “room” in the house. The rules there are that I need access to the freezers but, apart from that, he has control of the space. We used to have an enormous chest freezer which we used to argue about as he insisted on cluttering it up with tools. He has a huge workbench but this is filled with clutter so the freezer was an easier target for his tools. I took a broad felt pen and wrote, “not a workbench” on the outside of the lid, however, you couldn’t read the words for tools. I gave up the battle!
Under the house is the crawl space, which I have never entered apart from putting my head and shoulders through, when something needs to be found. This area is also under Dave’s jurisdiction and in here he has all things that need to be forgotten, including our first home computers, a 1983 Vic 20 and an old Atari.
Yes, we are as bad as each other when it comes to hanging onto our old stuff, maybe we will both pass on from this home so that we can leave all the decluttering to our four daughters. They should have no problem getting rid of the junk as very little of it is sentimental to them.
Our devotion to our junk is probably the reason to our longevity of our marriage, it is easier to hang on to the old and familiar than it is to part with it. Long may be our love and the need to keep hold of one another.