Stuff

We are overwhelmed overruled overcome by stuff. During this time of quarantine pandemic it seems even more odd. As we seek out toilet paper and groceries. Some things we truly need. I either did not receive or did not read the memo about hoarding prior to our confinement. I walked past rows of toilet paper and paper towels with abandon and did not add any to my cart. For we were not in need.

(Instead we launched into go mode of picking up Macy from college and spending final last moments with my mom before they closed the doors. As J.P. drove to Boston to collect our college freshman, I sat with my mother in the final hours allowed for visitation. Holding her chocolate milkshake for her and clipping her fingernails. Looking into her eyes attempting to explain the situation in the most simple of terms while reminding her once again how much I. And we. Love her.)

Last week I finally found a grocery delivery service which seemed to have an available time. Or would at least fulfill the requests in an orderly fashion. We awoke yesterday morning. A week after the order had been placed. A day after it had been promised at the most outer latest delivery time. No groceries. And decided that we would have to need must venture out to collect what we could. As we attended to showering. A text. From our shopper. Informing us that shopping had commenced.

There were several texts that followed about missing items or slightly different options. We responded to each one. Still getting ready. Unsure if anything could be trusted anymore. Dressed and preparing breakfast we received notification that any items that were located and purchased were en route. It felt like we had been saved. Just in the nick of time. From venturing out. Into this uncharted potentially dangerous territory. No skills or possibility of identifying potential invisible signs of the virus. Masks purchased had still not arrived. We felt saved.

After spending a slow leisurely morning of hunting for easter baskets and engaging in our morning family chat. Which we love.

(J.P. will be so very sad miserable when quarantine is lifted as he loves cherishes holds dear each and every one of these daily interactions with the girls. Feeling like he is catching up making up for missing lost time shared in their youth)

We chose to attempt to be productive. In a different way. In a way that haunts me. And I have to mentally prepare myself. But still. You really truly cannot be quarantined in your home and not attempt secure complete finalize the most pressing and mountainous of projects. Finally you must face your demon.

The basement storage area. Let me explain. Provide some background as a way to justify codify my fear my desire to become physically ill. My efforts to find anything else to do other than face this kind of challenge.

In previous years. A former life which seems so distant now. I cannot even begin to compare contrast the incredible joy and love I feel in my new current daily life. But before. In my most darkest saddest of times. I lived with two hoarders. When they moved out. One because of divorce and one to dementia. They left behind mounds of things. Stuff. Belongings.

The divorced person was offered anything everything. His for the taking. He took nice things. Leaving behind piles and boxes of collected abandoned stuff. Perhaps as a parting gift. These boxes had traveled between homes. Without ever the ability to review process cull any of it. At all. Had to be kept. Because something might be needed or valuable. Nothing was.

My mom had hoarded so very much. Even a bag of dirt. Piles and items were shoved and thrown. Placed in corners of our house that we did not know existed. Just stuff. Some was so moldy. So old. We could not determine what it had once been.

Things that I recalled remembered cherished loved from my childhood. Could not be found. Quite possibly these had been given away or tossed. No matter. Gone.

But piles. Of stuff. Left in place.

J.P. and I spent countless hours days weekends huge sections of our lives. Cleaning up cleaning out after these people. Bedrooms closets offices sheds other sheds under things in eaves of attics and roofs wedged worked into crevices. Stuff.

We donated as much as humanly possible anything that could be salvaged. Some had to be tossed. We are so very familiar with our local dump.

The back basement is the last place. The last part to conquer. And while I assumed most belonged to emanated from the girls’ childhood. Toys books mementoes. Still. Other stuff. Other boxes. Pieces of pain. Had seeped in. Found their way amongst stuffed animals.

(The desire to rid our lives of this stuff. To unburden the future of and for our children. To leave them feelings of love and shared special memories. For them to pass these lessons of love to the next generation. But not stuff. To be stuck or stored in basements and garages. Because of some created imagined feeling of nostalgia)

We did the bulk of it. Enough that I can go through boxes on my own. Left behind. To sort and finalize what is kept donated taken to the landfill.

I almost shut down while doing this. Try to turn part of my brain off. The section that has an emotional attachment or reaction to things found discovered. Those that bring shock anger sadness. Next to a Mother’s Day card handmade by one of our girls. So long ago.

And then we walked. Through neighborhoods. Seeking out any all avenues back streets roads that arrive at water. So we can look out on the Severn River. Watch the ospreys building nests. Breathe in the wind and sun and feel the heartbeat of creatures around us.

And we talked. About what we had found. What we had accomplished. What was left to do.

And stuff.

What is it about stuff. The need to collect hold hide amass acquire.

The way we measure assess evaluate ourselves based on the stuff we have. Mountainous piles.

As if the value of our stuff. In some way. Brings value to our lives. Our beings. Us as individuals.

Perhaps because we have both experienced loss of connections attachments people relationships. Perhaps because we have both had to make difficult decisions. About what is truly essential necessary. For our lives. Our happiness.

We talked about all that we could easily walk away from. Stuff.

For now that I am happy. Fulfilled in my life. Doing being living as a loved cherished valued being.

Stuff is not important. It loses its value. I do not define myself as an end product output outcome of my stuff.

My people. Yes. The love I feel in my life. Completely. But not objects labels things.

We talk about how we now consider. When combing through boxes and piles. What do we cherish enough to want to move. Someday. When we relocate. When we downsize. Because children have left to go adult on their own. And no longer require a bedroom designated for them under our roof. A guest room will do. What burdens of things do we wish to carry on our backs. In our hearts.

Photos. We will work on scanning those into electronic files. As that helps reduce the aging process of the boxes my mother kept. Ones I still have to open. But in an area with lots of air circulation. As the black mold grows expands travels. But also scanning any all pictures so that all have access to them. And they can be stored on a cloud rather than in albums and boxes. This scanning will take significant time. And will perhaps be done over cold and blustery days. Maybe we will turn on the tv while we do this. Maybe not.

Furnishings. There is one table only. That we would want to keep with us. A workbench made by J.P.’s dad. Now our entry table. Made of black walnut. Beautiful. Rough. Filled with meaning.

There are other pieces but I now find myself willing able to part with them. My grandmother’s bedroom set. Loved adored so very cherished by me. Gorgeous cherry carved. Will be given to a local family. Citizens now, recent immigrants. Seeking a better way of life for their children. Similar to my great grandparents start in this country. I find it poetic. So very right and perfect. It brings peace.

Some mementoes. From my children. But not too many. I hold their love in my heart every day.

China crystal silver. Those things I once considered of value. No need or desire any longer. No emotional reaction. Just stuff. Plain white dishes work for us.

And then. Having talked about all of this for many miles. Feeling some relief at our ability capacity to walk away leave behind stuff. As it does not bring denote define our personal value.

J.P. asks about the art. My pieces collected from around the world. My journeys for work. Moments in so many countries attending markets and shops. Meeting the people who created made actualized. Depicting scenes of lives or concepts far different from mine. My love of Betsey Fowler. My joy in looking at. Viewing. Casting eyes upon the walls and seeing my favorite familiar pieces.

My Achilles heel has been located.

What?!?!?! I stumbled babbled could not believe understand. How this man who purports to love me. Adores me. Could possibly probably dare mention the one category that I cannot deny. My exhale. My happy. Art that I seek to see experience in different museums galleries across the world. Some that I have found secured for myself. Joy. Diversity in life. In thinking. In creating expressing.

So much for my ethereal existential rising. Beyond the need for material things.

This.

But still.

Trading stuff for art. I will take that trade any day. But trading all of it for those I love and the incredible amazing experiences shared and those to come. Be gone stuff.

I have a life to live. Unburdened.

(Photo of our special dog Kai who was likely born hydrocephalic as his awkward gait, appearance and behavior indicate for our amazing vet Lisa. He has a problem with hoarding bones. He will collect any all bones and lay atop them so that he is the sole proprietor. He is a dear sweet love and large lap dog who came to us middle aged after an abusive stark existence. The other dogs are not put off by him and our senior dog Honey will easily remove bones or even lay next to him on the same bed. Hoarding is a symptom of so many experiences and conditions. Kai was under and malnourished when he arrived and is happiest now surrounded by an assortment so he knows he never has to worry about being without.)