I'm Not Sure What to Think...

Dexter and Nocturne

Nothing

Some friends have been talking about decluttering, I've been reading about it on Rachael Herron's blog, and I read an article in Real Simple as well. It seems the Universe was encouraging me to think a bit on that, and that's how I found myself Sunday evening standing in front of my bookshelf.

The magazine article recommends breaking a job into small pieces so as to avoid being overwhelmed. I thought that was a good idea and worked on the bottom two shelves. It was nearly all books and notes from college and grad school.

One shelf was almost entirely notes from classes and papers I'd written. I recycled everything. I have copies of my master's thesis somewhere else, and vanity will probably always require me to keep that. Everything else went into the recycling bin.

As I pulled the books off the shelf, I was prepared to feel nostalgia. Instead, I felt disdain. Why in the name of all things holy was I keeping Kant and Kierkegaard? I didn't like reading them the first time. Was I keeping them as some badge of honor? I read this, and it is a testament to my nerdiness? I kept a few of the books, but most of them went into three boxes. Yesterday I took the books to the bookstore. As is my way, I kept reminding myself to view this as a donation rather than a sale. They would offer me fifty cents, and I would happily take it because it meant those books were out of my life. Instead, they offered me $11, which I immediately gave back to them to purchase two gifts for a friend. I left feeling like a goddess who had just transformed something worthless to me into something that will be valued by someone else.

When I finished with the recycling and boxing, I moved binders containing programs from shows we've seen--and we do love live theater quite a bit and have a ton of them--to one of the empty shelves. The rest of the books seemed to exhale, and there was once more no real empty space.

The Real Simple article suggests that as you weed out books that aren't important to you, you'll get a little thrill to look at the books you kept and how they say things about who you are as a person. My shelves say I love theater, gardening, children's books, fantasty/sci-fi, Buddhism, and knitting. Those shelves speak the truth.

That night, as I was lying in bed, I tried to quiet my mind and see what I was feeling. Did I feel lighter somehow? Did I feel sad?

I felt nothing. No relief, no sadness, nothing. I think those things had been irrelevant to my life and happiness for so long that their presence or absence made no difference. A song from Chorus Line ran through my head.

They all felt something, but I felt nothing except the feeling that this bullshit was absurd.

-Marvin Hamlisch and Edward Kleban

A Shelf and a Rain Barrel

We have a closet in our entryway. It's home to electronics that I'm confident should be recycled since we haven't looked at them in years, too many coats (How many coats do two people need? The answer, apparently, is A LOT.), and winter accessories. 

This winter, Andrew and I found that we only wore hats, scarves and mittens from the top of the pile. That's the only part we could easily get to without causing a wool avalanche.

This is dumb. I knit a lot of awesome knitwear, and it all deserves to be worn.

Friday I bought two $10 plastic boxes from Ikea. Andrew's winter stuff is in one, and mine is in the other. It's a small thing, but it makes a big difference.




We had a rain barrel put in last summer. Andrew didn't like that it was balanced on a couple cement blocks, so he put it on some pavers. When he did, he asked me if I wanted it raised.

I said no, which was a mistake. I could only use a tiny watering can with it because everything else was too tall to fit under the spigot. I put off asking Andrew to change it because he had asked me, and I said no, and now I wanted him to redo something he'd already done...

Andrew redid it this weekend. See that green watering can? That's what I can fit under the spigot now. I may be a hippie tree hugger, but I am basically a lazy hippie tree hugger. There is no way I would water from the rain barrel in July if I had to use the tiny blue watering can.

Even though Andrew and I have been married nearly twelve years and have been together for over fifteen, I still sometimes am surprised by how wonderful he is. If I had asked my dad to redo something he'd already done for me after he'd asked me how I wanted it done... well, I wouldn't do that. Andrew didn't think it was a big deal at all. Each one of those six pavers is a 20" square, and they weight a gajillion pounds apiece. I couldn't even help put them in the cart or carry them from the car to the back of the garage. Andrew did it all with no complaints.

It's amazing the amount of happiness these two things have given me:

• an organized shelf
• a raised rain barrel

I suspect it isn't the physical things that make me happy. I'm lucky to be able to share a disorganized shelf and a yard with Andrew, and I'm even luckier that we can improve them together.

I hope you have this kind of happiness in your life as well.

Weeding

You are so lucky! You have stumbled upon a great opportunity to use your pretend eyes. How does this work? I write things, and you imagine there are photographs.

You're welcome.

I've been weeding lately.  Both outside weeding:

Imagine photo of weeded bed here.

and inside weeding:

Imagine photo of bags of books ready to go to the used bookstore here.

I'm trying to think of it as a series of existential opportunities. I'm getting rid of things I don't want in my life and making room for those items I do want. I'm getting a better handle on what items I own so I can enjoy them. I'm letting the chi flow freely around my life.

But, basically, I'm having a good clear out.

Hang This

Andrew and I have been searching for a coatrack. Our entryway isn't large enough to have a coat tree, so we had to get something that would hang on the wall.

We found the perfect coatrack on etsy.

I started with this

was carefully supervised by this

 and this

measured and taped

and ended up with this.

I'm thrilled with it. Perhaps now we'll stop hanging our coats on the dining room chairs.

Perhaps we should...

...start saving for a more squirrel-proof birdfeeder.


Also, as a bit of tidying up from this post, we've decided to send our donations to Heifer.

Wordless Wednesday

Dear Air Conditioner,

Let me begin by saying that I am so glad you let me know that you were feeling overlooked and unneeded. I appreciate you telling me now instead of waiting until either this weekend when the heat and humidity will be back, or, even worse, waiting until the dead of winter when we need your heat pump.

I want to make sure you understand that your work is valued. Yes, we had a couple of ceiling fans installed, but that wasn't to replace you; it was to complement you. It was our desire to take a little of the strain off of your tired compressor. I know it isn't your fault that our bedroom is warm. That's the price we pay for having a second-floor bedroom. We simply didn't want you to feel badly about our discomfort, so we put in the ceiling fans upstairs.

That doesn't mean we love you any less. In fact, it should make you realize just how much we do love you.

I would like to gently remind you that there are other ways to express your feelings than simply refusing to put out cold air. You are free to use the dry erase board in the dining room, for example. Or leave us a voicemail. Or send an e-mail. We're very accessible.

Perhaps you don't realize that your chosen form of communication requires us to call out a repairman. I know he's a nice repairman. I know you enjoyed spending time with him two years ago. I remember. However, we have to pay that repairman. It is an unexpected and unwelcome expense.

This is perhaps also the proper time to remind you that Andrew and I, unlike you, have full-time jobs. We actually earn an income. While your work is valued, it costs us in terms of electricity and, now, a visit from Mr. Repairman. Your run capacitor temper tantrum cost us $239.80. There are better ways to communicate.

That isn't to say we don't appreciate you doing your job; we do.

But you can be replaced. Don't push it too hard.