Tag: stuff

Inheritance

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Tomorrow it will be a month since my mother passed away. It was unexpected. Nearly a decade ago she had surgery to replace a heart valve. After that she had lots of energy and spunk but she would be on medicine for the rest of her life. It is that medication that is likely responsible for her death. “A catastrophic bleed.” A stroke, she simply laid down in bed one night really tired and never regained consciousness – it’s how she wanted to go, but probably not when.

I share this with you not to elicit sympathy or use her life as a cautionary tale, but by way of explanation for my absence from the interweb. And to share a little story about a lot of stuff.

In the weeks since she died I have been handling her “estate” and its contents. She had no money, was on social security and Medicaid, but her modest two-bedroom apartment told a different story.

My mother was not a hoarder, but she did have an affinity for all things crafty and written. She had three enormous bookshelves packed with books – floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall, sometimes two rows deep. She had one bedroom, the larger one, dedicated to crafts. She sewed, knitted, made jewelry, painted, drew, fantasized, dreamed and created all sorts of things in this space. She had 5 bookcases in this room filled with fabric, beads, yarn, paper and more books. Two desks for working. And when those filled up she opened a table.

Her closet and dresser were packed with clothes, good quality, known brands, yet she often complained that she needed new clothes. She had items stored in her kitchen that she never used. At least a dozen cups full of notepads and pens, crochet hooks and feathers, dotted the landscape of her home. She had multiples of personal care items like deodorant and soap – different brands, not like she bought them in bulk – just in case, I suppose.

Dealing with her home and its contents provided a welcome distraction from grief for a while, but in the larger picture it was full of life lessons on prosperity, abundance and stuff. It felt like a cruel joke at first: this is my year of letting go of stuff, of purging my home and now I have added a whole (almost) two bedroom apartment to the mix. It wasn’t about me of course, only it was.

It was a lesson for me. So many lessons, some still being revealed.

I brought a lot of her things home, but I was also able to off-load a ton of the fabric and craft supplies to a crafters guild she belonged to, I left some furniture behind for her neighbor and donated some clothes and kitchen items to the local charity thrift shop. But I still filled 6 car loads, an SUV and one of those super tall vans.

It overwhelms me, but it was very clear to me that I wanted to take my time with what I culled. And I’m glad that I am. There’s not much of monetary value, but a lot of memories and clues to the woman that was my mother.

I was completely prepared after this “year-long purging project” to chuck all my personal things and never look back. That could still happen, but as I paw through the personal effects of a life that spanned 75 years, and a handful of states from coast to coast, I’m starting to recognize value in things.

Not all things. I am not changing my tune completely.

But finding the book my mother read to me as a child stirred the sweetest of memories. All the bad artwork my brother and I created as children was saved, as were a tiny outfit or two, a blanket, locks of hair.

I uncovered a poem my grandmother wrote and some of her artwork. Tucked in a folder I found an autobiography my mother had written for admittance to ministerial school that revealed a few things I did not know. And a mountain of cards and letters from my mother’s friends showed her to be much loved.

While it’s true the memories do not live in these things, they do serve as a touchstone that creates a picture of the person who elected to hold onto them. These things convey what was important to her, what mattered. It’s a comfort.

I have already released many items. I just needed to touch them, to take my time with them, learn something from them, investigate. But now, they have served their purpose. I am slower in giving up photos and items she made and maybe I’ll always hold onto them. I have set aside a few items I know she particularly loved. But I have also been able to gift specific books and items to my friends who are a perfect match.

I have let go of the self-judgment that would have forced me to toss them before I was ready. My mission for my own home. Instead I am learning the value of a few items to bring comfort.

My mission for my home, even with her stuff in it, is still the same. I am going to go through everything and release that which does not serve me or bring me happiness. This was never about living in an empty home, but about lightening up, I just have more stuff to go through now.

It’s a process, a journey, and like all journey’s it’s made much sweeter by taking time and moving mindfully.

 

 

 

 

Waste Not

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I’ve been thinking a lot about trash lately. Mostly how much I produce. How many bags go out per week, how full my recycling bin is, stuff like that.

And then I wondered how different my choices would be if I had to pay or be responsible for this trash. I am already paying for its removal, as are you, it’s one of those line items in your “City of…” bill or it’s built into your rent, so paying for it is covered.

But what if I had to do something with my trash and recycles? What if I couldn’t just put them at the curb and smile in satisfaction at my clean home?

Let’s play a game… Let’s pretend we’re going grocery shopping for one day of food on the SAD (Standard American Diet).

In our basket we may find:

  • 1 box of cereal
  • 1 gallon of milk
  • 1 quart of orange juice
  • 1 dozen eggs
  • 1 loaf of bread
  • package of smoked turkey lunch meat
  • package of American cheese
  • 1 jar of mayonnaise
  • 1 box of single serving chips
  • 1 apple in a plastic bag
  • 1 box of Hostess treats
  • 1 package of hotdogs
  • 1 package of buns
  • 1 squeeze bottle of mustard
  • 1 squeeze bottle of ketchup
  • 1 jar of pickles
  • 1 jar of baked beans
  • 1 container of potato salad
  • 1 12 pack of soda
  • 1 gallon of ice cream

First of all, bleck! For your health’s sake, please eat some greens!! But moving on. Let’s take a look at the waste produced just in the packaging.

  • 1 box of cereal – cardboard box, wax paper insert
  • 1 gallon of milk – plastic jug, plastic lid
  • 1 quart of orange juice – plastic bottle, plastic lid
  • 1 dozen eggs – Styrofoam container
  • 1 loaf of bread – plastic bag, plastic tie
  • package of smoked turkey lunch meat – plastic container/wrapper
  • package of American cheese – plastic wrapper(s)
  • 1 jar of mayonnaise – plastic jar, plastic lid
  • 1 box of single serving chips – cardboard box, plastic wrap, plastic bags
  • 1 apple in a plastic bag – plastic bag
  • 1 box of Hostess treats – cardboard box, plastic wrap for each treat
  • 1 package of hotdogs – plastic wrapped
  • 1 package of buns – plastic bag, plastic tie
  • 1 squeeze bottle of mustard – plastic bottle, plastic lid
  • 1 squeeze bottle of ketchup – plastic bottle, plastic lid
  • 1 jar of pickles – glass jar, metal lid
  • 1 jar of baked beans – tin can with rubber lining
  • 1 container of potato salad – plastic container
  • 1 12 pack of soda – cardboard box, aluminum cans
  • 1 gallon of ice cream – wax coated cardboard

Now let’s say you were going to throw all of this away in one day. A lot of it could go into your recycling bin, but not all. Those lids for mustard, ketchup, pickles, etc. are usually not recyclable. Many plastic bags cannot be recycled. Styrofoam egg containers, maybe. The cardboard can typically be composted or recycled, in some municipalities.

All this sounds like good news! What’s the problem?

The problem is only about 35% of people actually recycle and only a percentage of that gets recycled. There’s too much. Recycling is a business and if there is no need for more of your trash it gets turned away. Where do you suppose it goes?

What if you had to separate all of your recyclables and take them to their individual recycling places and pay to have them recycled? What if there were no service to just pick them up? Would you make different choices?

Let’s take a look at our shopping list one more time and consider some more environmentally friendly choices that may actually be healthier for our bodies as well.

  • 1 box of cereal – purchase in bulk (purchase reusable cloth bags to buy dry items in bulk)
  • 1 gallon of milk – make your own almond milk, super easy, no waste, store in a reusable glass bottle
  • 1 quart of orange juice – buy loose oranges and squeeze your own, compost the peels, nothing like fresh-squeezed orange juice
  • 1 dozen eggs – ceramic containers are available and doesn’t everyone have a backyard chicken now? Purchase from a farmer’s market or friend, bring your own reusable container
  • 1 loaf of bread – bake your own, or let go of gluten for a while and use lettuce to wrap your sandwiches
  • package of smoked turkey lunch meat – purchase from a deli that uses paper to wrap meat and ask them to put it in your reusable glass container or washable cloth bag
  • package of American cheese – see above
  • 1 jar of mayonnaise – make your own, it’s easy and fresh
  • 1 box of single serving chips – you don’t need chips, pick up some bulk nuts
  • 1 apple in a plastic bag – ditch the plastic bag, you’re going to wash the apple anyway
  • 1 box of Hostess treats – you don’t need these either
  • 1 package of hotdogs – no, but if you must, again, get them from a deli that will wrap in paper
  • 1 package of buns – go bunless or wrap in lettuce or purchase from a bakery that will wrap in paper or use your bag
  • 1 squeeze bottle of mustard – make your own or buy an organic brand in glass – save the glass container
  • 1 squeeze bottle of ketchup – make your own, easy and fresh
  • 1 jar of pickles – you can make your own but if you’re buying glass and saving it, you get a pass
  • 1 jar of baked beans – choose a brand that doesn’t line their cans or make your own
  • 1 container of potato salad – make your own, grandma must have an amazing recipe
  • 1 12 pack of soda – just no
  • 1 gallon of ice cream – on a hot summer day make your own, this is a treat

We have ended up with a few glass containers we can reuse, paper than can be composted and maybe one tin can. Don’t you feel better?

The time it would take to make all of this from scratch is probably the same amount of time it would take to sort through all your trash and drive it to separate recycling facilities and pay to have it recycled.

Precycle. Plan ahead. Consider where the packaging will go when you make your purchases.

  • Purchase a few glass jars that seal tightly to hold bulk dry goods like rice, cereal, nuts, etc.
  • Pick up a variety of sizes of cloth draw string bags for bulk foods and produce.
  • Save all the glass containers that are already in your pantry to use for other purposes.

Set waste goals. Find a container that seems like an acceptable amount of waste and notice how long it takes to fill it. Continually try to beat your last record, slower and less.

There are so many great resources out there and inspiring people doing great things. Here are a few:

Website with tons of ideas: www.bezero.org

Website: www.trashisfortossers.com

Article with statistics: harmony1.com

 

Mattering

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I’ve been absent for about 10 days. I have a really good reason: someone close to me passed away. It was unexpected and sad, but ultimately beautiful and freeing. For her.

I, on the other hand, have been gifted the bulk of her possessions. And it’s a lot. She had a two bedroom apartment stuffed with books, creative project pieces and parts, clothes and the normal belongs of a life richly lived.

The Universe can be douchily ironic. Just as I am in the process of purging and letting go I am presented with a whole house of stuff to manage.

I am not being intentionally insensitive, it is just that I am on the business end of handling this parting. Grief comes in waves mixed with laughter and sweet memories. For now, though, the sorting of that life is the task at hand.

It’s always a process.

In sorting through the markers of her life I am both compelled to keep special tokens and simultaneously light a match and walk away.

There will be no fires.

At first glance the items surrounding me point to a life of abundance. But on closer inspection I find evidence of something more akin to lack and fear. Where one stick of deodorant would suffice I find 4. All the same. Five tall bookcases line the walls of the craft studio. They are packed with scraps of fabric, beads, books on creative endeavors, sewing materials, patterns, paper, glue. There are two computers, a sewing machine and a closet stuffed with mystery. A million tiny notes are scattered about. Half as many projects begun then abandoned.

Elsewhere in the home 3 large bookcases are full of books, sometimes two rows deep, a few photos and other mementos dot the shelves. Stacks of books rest next to the spots most frequented, magazines teeter on tables, the freezer is stuffed with food, the refrigerator the same. The walls are covered in artwork and photos with still more framed pieces leaning against walls waiting for a vacancy. And appliances requested sit in boxes unused.

It is a very accurate representation of its occupant: homey, messy in that creative way and lived in. It’s welcoming and feels safe.

But it’s a lesson. In stuff, in love, in fear, in recognizing what is necessary. In recognizing what is true.

I will continue to sort through belongings, donating many to the faceless masses, gifting some to friends of the deceased and keeping a touchstone or two.

There are boxes full of love – letters, cards, photos of trips and good times – that were perhaps felt and then forgotten. Mementos of troubleless times. (I will study these.) But they were not powerful enough to convince the beholder of her worth. Perhaps for a moment, but long term this sense of ‘not-good-enoughness’ would take a seat beside her.

Receiving things, temporarily created peace. Until they didn’t and more things would be desired, procured. She wasn’t a hoarder, but may have been heading in that direction.

The biggest gift I am getting from this experience will not take up any space in my home. It is the recognition of my own self-worth, my place in the universe. That I matter.

She mattered too, so much more than she could accept and believe. She heard the words over and over again from so many people how she had made a life-changing difference to them, how she had given them peace when they thought none existed, how she awakened in them a creative spirit they didn’t know they had. But she didn’t receive those words, she didn’t integrate them. She wore them for a short time, shared them with those close to her as external evidence of her worth, then shed them like dead skin.

In sorting and purging her things I am infected with a sense of melancholy. In purging my own things and letting go I am left bare, all raw nerves and sensitive teeth. It’s necessary. At times I am elated and giddy. It’s a cleansing with far deeper implications than a tidy home. It’s a liberation. And it’s a process.

 

 

Evidence of a Life Lived

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As far as I can tell I have about a million photos, just in my room. And 20 times more on my laptop and two external hard drives. Oh, and on my phone. And on about 3 SD cards. I guess you could say I’m a visual person.

What occurs to me as I sort through the physical photos is how much I enjoy touching them and deciding if I want to keep them or not. Putting them in piles, tossing some into the trash, then maybe retrieving one or two from there. I go from a stack so tall it threatens to topple to one no thicker than a Stephen King writing as Richard Bachman novel.

And I am filled with satisfaction.

I do not get this same high from sorting through my virtual pile of photos. I never feel like I’m complete, or that I’m doing it right. Didn’t I just put this one in the trash? Or did I move it to another folder? Maybe it’s on my desktop. It’s maddening. And yet I feel like it should be the same.

But underneath all of that the underlying cause of the distress is the fear that I will delete the wrong photos.

I am attached. I loathe to admit it.

This process, the counting and cataloging and eventual purging is revealing all my neurotic tendencies. Why are photos so precious? What if they all just disappeared? What am I truly holding onto?

Memories? Evidence of a life lived? Proof of something?

Is that what all stuff is? Is that why we hold onto things from our past? I think maybe that’s one reason. I also think guilt holds objects in place longer than they need to be. And lack, fear of never having enough. Our stuff tells our story, too. It communicates to others who we are by the selection of items we choose to live with. It’s more than just your style.

But I digress, back to the endless stacks of photos.

It hits me as I paw through one box in particular. Most of the photos are from past work events from a company and job that defined me for a while and definitely shaped my business acumen and practices. I loved working for  this company and the people I worked with. We traveled to Hawaii and San Diego and San Antonio. We had fun trainings in Atlanta and parties locally. Yet I can only name maybe half the people in the photos. The photos don’t tell the story as richly as my memories. I can let them go.

I’ve also noticed that I am quick to toss photos of things that I’m sure I felt were amazing and new to me at the time, but I have since seen or experienced whatever it is over and over again. A tiny alligator in a pond at the Kennedy Space Center 15 years ago looks trivial and silly next to the up close and personal friends I’ve made at the Orlando Wetlands. I am comparing my past to my present. Healthy? Normal?

This shows me that the photo was a novelty, not a memory. I also can’t bear to keep photos of animals in the zoo or Sea World. My sensibilities and education about such places won’t allow me to enjoy them.

I am questioning my own photo motives.

Mostly I think I just really like documenting things. I don’t know why. I’m not sure it’s just for me. I like to share.

I will continue to thin the photo herd for eventual scanning. Photo books are in my future, but will I be able to let go of the actual photos once they’re scanned? I guess we’ll see.

I’m just grateful I have not committed to counting everything I have digitally. Although that may be a worthy endeavor.

Makes me sleepy just thinking about it. Let’s deal with the tangible stuff first.

16 Tiny Buddhas

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I avoided my room like the plague when I was following the Japanese Art of Tidying protocal to declutter last year. It’s her fault, really, Marie Kondo’s. She recommended waiting until everything else was sorted and purged before beginning on sentimental items. I took that to mean craft supplies as well.

So I waited. And waited. Until this year.

My approach to this cataloging, decluttering, organizing task has me going room to room. I do like how Ms. Kondo had me group items last year and if it hadn’t been for that I would probably be in a heap at the back of my closet, murmuring, trying to rock myself back to reality.

I started on my room yesterday. When I say ‘my room’ I am referring to that space that is sometimes a jewelry studio, or a library, or an office, or most recently, a hole full of flat surfaces on which to put things to go through at a later date.

This is that later date.

I dreaded it. Knowing that there was so much stuff in there. So many little tiny things to go through and count. Craft stuff, jewelry making supplies, 2 filing cabinets, a large bookcase full of books and an altar on top hosting a meeting of the tiniest Buddhas and Hindu deities along with shells, crystals, candles and rocks. Always rocks.

But it has been liberating, as I think I knew it would be.

I wasn’t sure exactly what to count, how to count. Do I count every paperclip or just the container holding them? What about paper for the printer? Why count each piece? I decided, for now anyway, to count loose things. Pens, pencils, pads of paper, staplers, that sort of thing. I counted the containers that held pencils and binder clips and every empty file folder. I counted the furniture and artwork and the lamps. When I got to the bookcase I counted everything, down to the last tiny shell and wobbly bronze Ganesh the size of my pinky fingernail.

Altar items:

3 Elephants
6 Ganesh
16 Buddha
5 crystals
25 rocks – I really need to look into the rock obsession
1 rabbit – born in the year of
2 frogs
1 sealed container of Ganges water
1 Quan Yin
4 packages of flower petals – mostly from temples in India
1 dog
2 old Japanese guys – I’m pretty sure there’s a more eloquent term for these wise men
4 cards
2 oil difussers
1 owl – from Slovenia who always makes me smile. Get it? Who?
2 nuts – from a recent trip up north
2 fabric printing block – from India
2 Durgas – she’s my girl
4 shells
2 coral
3 feathers
1 Om tile
1 Ganesh tile
1 prayer for forgiveness
1 snake figurine
1 good fortune cat
1 angel
2 mala bead strands
1 peacock feather fan
1 framed Radha Krishna – painted by my yoga teacher
2 Balinese marriage dolls
1 strand of lampwork beads  – that I made in a class, rudimentary but pretty colors.

In all 101 items on top of the bookcase along with a lamp. Four equal sized shelves beneath it containing 120 books and myriad other trinkets and mementos. But I got to touch every one and consider its purpose, conjure its meaning and decide if it was necessary.

So often we set things where we want them then walk away. We may dust them or around them, but that can be a mindless chore – something to get through – and we don’t fully appreciate those things we chose to bring into our homes. Some of us don’t even dust our own things, some of us don’t even dust. Not naming any names.

While I was counting and cataloging I made some initial decisions and purges. I dumped quite a few magazines in the recycle bin, along with some papers I had been holding onto until I uncovered their importance. There was none. I filed papers that had been lingering in my in box that I had to rifle through on more than one occasion to look for something, which had it been filed in the proper place would have saved me lots of time. That’s part of the end game here – time. I filled a box with items to go to others and added to bags sitting in the garage intended for Good Will or some other thrift store.

I also made note of further culling that needed to take place: files that needed thinning, books that could be appreciated by others now that I’ve absorbed what I could from them. I made some decisions about making jewelry and crafts that surprised me and glanced at the boxes and envelopes of family photos – dating back to the 1800s – I have yet to further organize and scan.

This room has been so many things, so many colors and sometimes a complete design and organizational conundrum. I think I may have made some decisions about that too.

I will tackle the rest over the weekend. It will be completed, the first round of purging and cataloging. That will feel like an accomplishment.

Letting go of what I don’t need so someone who does need it can have it feels noble and sometimes scary. What if I need that someday?

Like a coloring book. Purged 11 of those. Still have 9. I think I’ll be okay.

It’s Written in Hindu, in the Stars

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A few months ago, I had my Vedic Astrology chart done. It was infinitely entertaining and confusing. In spite of that, I learned a few things about myself that may explain some of my behaviors. But isn’t that how these always go? We fit our story into the fortune to create a reason from which we gain insight.

In addition, I have been writing my book on India (for four years now, but just recently with for real earnestness) and a few of my traits are being revealed to me here as well.

Stay with me, this all relates to the purging food organizational structure trying to find peace phase I’ve been going through the past 50 years or so.

In the astrology chart it shows that my ruling deity is Yama. He is the god of death. This excited me. What I have learned in this journey is death of anything makes room for new beginnings, new life. The death of an idea, a habit, yes, even a person, creates space. I do not wish to end the lives of others, I do however like to complete things. Moment to moment our inhale dies to the exhale, day dies to night and is reborn 12 hours later. The birth of a child is the death of the pregnancy. One year dies to the next and so on.

This chart also proclaims my dharma (the thing I was born to do) as “carrying things away.” This too, made sense. My favorite creature on the whole planet is the vulture – nature’s humble janitor. THEY CARRY THINGS AWAY. Stuff we don’t want, dead stuff, so we don’t have to deal with it. It’s noble.

The writing has revealed my tendency to live my life in fragmented sentences. Grammatically this would look like … To be continued, more to come, stay tuned. Which is completely counter to carrying things away or ending them.

Balance? Harmony? Insanity?

I rush. I cram too much stuff in. I’m learning to let go of a few things on my schedule.  I’m better at prioritizing. But there’s still a lot I don’t complete.

I noticed this as I was writing about an experience in the desert of India when I was on safari with a group. We were at a park looking for interesting animals and such. When I felt we had seen everything there was to see, I was ready to go. The yoga guru I was traveling with, chose that exact moment to lay down on the hard cracked earth, knees bent, hands folded on his belly. What? Why? C’mon! I walked back to the jeep like a spoiled child denied a treat.

The pouting lasted about 10 minutes. I walked back out to where he was and stood there willing him to hop up, clap his hands and say, “let’s go.” Instead he waxed poetic about all that he could see. For about 20 more minutes. I surrendered – mostly because I didn’t have a choice. When we finally did make it back to our jeeps to leave, the sky turned a brilliant orange. The setting ball of fire filtered through unseen pollution created a magical show for us. That we would have missed had my Vulcan mind meld worked.

I’m great at beginnings. I am an ideator, an instigator, a starter. Initiation is my wheelhouse. Implementation so-so. Completion? Let’s just call that an area of opportunity.

This purging, ordering, organizing, cataloging seems like a reaction to this fragmentation and a fulfillment of my dharma all at once. I am carrying away the stuff I no longer need. Or want. The physical and the energetic – if you believe in that hokum – are being distributed among friends, thrift stores and ebay.

It’s another project started that I intend to see through.

It seems the less stuff I have the more space there will be to complete those sentences. To sit still and notice. To be where I am when I am.

To stay for the sunset.

 

 

I Touch My Stuff

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Still counting. Not even close to the end. Completed so far:

Master Bedroom: 1174

Master Bathroom: 228

Linen Closet: 225

Guest Bath: 102

Laundry Closet: 28

Back Patio: 367

Back Yard: 65

Hallway: 22

Grand Total: 2,492 things…so far

There’s something reassuring about handling every single thing in my home. I have begun to purge a few things as I’m going through them, and as much as I’d like to halve the number of items that belong to my husband, I am leaving that up to him. With a few pointed questions, sarcastic faces and “whatever you think” kinda tactics. It works for a while.

When I think about counting the next space my whole body droops a little, but once I start something happens. An appreciation and sense of gratitude for all that I do have softens everything.

The guest room is quite possibly my favorite room in the whole house. It’s light and clean and has a lot of my most beloved things. There’s a hutch with a recessed glass upper cabinet and lower cabinet with solid doors. Oak, I think. Not my favorite wood, but it’s dark and feels sturdy and strong. It was in my Great uncle’s home and when he passed I got my pick of anything. This piece just speaks to me.

Inside the glass cabinet are all those curios that have no real place anywhere else:

  • Dolls my grandmother made and some she brought back from exotic locations
  • A stuffed representation of our schnauzer growing up with his actual collar.
  • A mug from Italy that belonged to the twin brother of the uncle who left me his stuff.
  • A carved cigarette holder that belonged to my grandmother. I can see her holding it and laughing with her head thrown back, a highball in the other gloved hand, Auntie Mame.
  • A house that doubles as a music box my dad brought me from Bermuda.
  • Some random items we have picked up because they spoke to us, that we will likely pass along soon to make room for new treasures.

img_3948The bottom of this piece holds a trove of other items with no permanent home.  These will likely be purged down to a more manageable few.

The things that we are attached to, even for just short time, deserve a place in our lives, in our homes, if they bring us joy and help us recall a special time or person.

This was never about blindly tossing non-essential items. It is about being mindful of what I decide to keep. Mindful of who I pass things along to. And especially mindful of anything I choose to bring in.

I expected to find things that clung to my ankle as I walked out on them and they are showing up. Especially here in this room. They may just stay. At least some of them, at least for a while.

I didn’t count the hangers the hanging clothes were hanging on. In the interest of thoroughness the total is now up to: 2,661.

 

 

 

Master of the Bedroom

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908. That’s how many items are in my master bedroom before I even count my husband’s clothes. I did count every piece of jewelry, scarves (I have a problem there, for sure) and unmentionables. I counted earrings and socks as pairs.

As I was counting, and getting so sleepy, I pulled some items out and put them aside. There is a lot more I want to rehome. I get into that space that I just don’t care about any of it anymore, just want to let it all go. And then I come across something with a sweet memory attached and emit a tiny little swoon, the angel on my shoulder stroking my hair as I fall deeper into my personal history. Or, on the other shoulder, that snarky devil in a hissing whisper baits me with, “you may need that one day.”

There is no easy way to do this.

I have to touch every single item in my home. I brought them all here, they deserve that consideration before letting them go.

I keep reminding myself that so much stress in the world has to do with the management of things. Aside from actual noun-stuff, this also includes appointments, social media, food, relationships, pets, health and I’m sure I’ve forgotten 437 other things.

So if I have less physical stuff, I am jumping to the magical conclusion that I’ll have more peace. More space. I may even at some point find a way to organize all my computer files, delete, shuffle, file. But that’s for another day. Maybe a whole ’nother year

Nine hundred and eight. That’s a lot of stuff. If you saw the drawer in my nightstand (which you can, above) or my tiny “walk-in” closet you would think that perhaps I already live minimalistically (word?); things are neat and there’s space. My nightstand drawer only has about six things in it now. All necessary, if I may be so bold: 2 eye pillows, my Nook charger, a reading light (for late night nook-less reading), a few emery boards and book marks. It’s really pretty pitiful looking. But I’ve made my peace with the space.

Although…up rises another voice, the interior designer in me that say, “oh you need a cute little box, or maybe several to keep that stuff from slidin’ around.” (She’s from the south.)

In the process I did remove 43 items from the drawer – 29 were book marks. The book monster will appear more than once in this love story…

The objects on top of my nightstand have been there a long time. A candle from Jamaica, a photo of the Lare and I, a mala, a rock from Long Island with a small stuffed animal sitting atop it and a large quartz crystal along with my lamp. And lotion, there’s always lotion.

The photo stays, it’s almost 20 years old. I feel like the crystal is doing some good so it gets a pass, but I could offer the candle to someone who might appreciate its sweet honeysuckle scent. I could gift the little stuffed animal and I could put the rock in my garden. But do I need to or am I being ridiculous?

For now it all stays.

The purging part of this grand experiment comes later. I want to identify my collections, shine a light on where my tendency to hoard comes into play. I have to confess to inordinate number of pillows – 11 just in this room – an excess of potted plants and hand towels. So far.

I know where the desire to accumulate is coming from, but that’s a deep dark secret we all hold. I’m not alone. We’ll chat about that at a later time.

Total stuff count to date: 1,893

Let me remind you that I have not even counted a full room. According to the website Becoming Minimalist, the average American home has over 300,000 items.

This may take a while.

 

 

Naked Soap

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Now that I’ve counted and culled the bathrooms and linen closet it’s time to consider what’s left.

If I am truly using this exercise to be more  conscious of my purchases and choices then I need to spend some time contemplating what I’ve discovered.

As far as the above mentioned spaces are concerned I’ve identified three categories:

  1. Items used, that get used up – toilet paper, make-up, shampoo, etc.
  2. Decorative items – art work, decorative containers, superfluous things
  3. Items used on a continuous basis – towels, rugs, robes

I want to take my time to think about all three of these, but it’s that first one that is the most worrisome. Are there better choices? For me, for the environment? The answer is almost always yes.

Let’s look at some of these things up close and personal:

Nail polish remover. I would not need nail polish remover if I did not paint my toenails. I would not need nail polish either. And really probably not cotton balls. The only other reason I use cotton balls is to apply witch hazel on bug bites.

Soap. I have been transitioning from body wash and pump-style hand soap to bar soap recently. I have so many handmade soaps that I’ve been using for decoration that it seems silly to be buying plastic that will likely not get recycled when I can use something that will disintegrate with use over time. On a side note, I can also purchase this bar soap without any packaging which reduces waste even more.

A note to those concerned with bacteria and using the same bar of soap as someone else to wash your hands: in the nicest way possible, get over it. It’s soap, the more you use it, the cleaner your hands will get. We have created over-sensitive immune systems with all our anti-bacterial craziness. It has its place, but the general home bathroom isn’t it. Be brave. Unless you’re a doctor, then please sterilize your hands. And warm them up too, please.

Toothpaste. I’m not ready to make my own toothpaste.

First Aid. I feel justified in keeping the hydrogen peroxide, alcohol and witch hazel on hand. They last a long time.

Waste I know I will produce:

  • Toothbrushes – would electric be better? Are there compostable types?
  • Make-up containers – to be fair I use three items plus lip balm, I’m pretty low maintenance
  • Toilet paper – sorry, not sorry, gonna keep using this
  • Shampoo bottles – surely there is another option, refillable somewhere?
  • Razors – Larry does have an old fashioned one, I however do not
  • Lotion bottles – as with the shampoo, there may be great alternatives to uncover
  • Deodorant containers – crystal? Cream? Investigating

I can keep it to that and investigate other options. I can do better. In the investigation, ingredients and business practices will be taken into consideration. I love buying products from people I know. I have a face cream, lip balm and soap from various friends. I know there are good companies out there with sustainable practices and I intend to find them. I’ll be sure to share.

Speaking of friends, I have one who is a Zero Waste advocate. A serious one. She has built a whole non-profit business around it. I so admire the work she is doing and has done and she continues to inspire the choices I make. She is a big part of the inspiration behind this year long project. She has tons of suggestions on her site if you’re working on minimizing your stuff.

The second group of items is easier to work with. I don’t need any of them, they are there by preference. Some will stay, some will go. I’ll use Marie Kondo’s method of holding each item and asking myself if I love it. In the bathrooms, there are maybe a dozen of these items tops and most of them were purchased at vintage shops or given to me as gifts.

The third item in the list could use a little attention. For some reason, I have quite a few hand towels. I think I will replace those with washcloths in each bathroom, that just seems more practical. The hand towels can go to Good Will or better yet, a veterinary clinic.

The towels and rugs I use I’ve had a long time and feel pretty good about those choices. All cotton, soft and durable, when they wear out they’ll go the way of the hand towels.

All in all I feel pretty good about my progress. More investigation is called for into those items that are in containers that I keep purchasing. There are some great mindful companies out there using innovative packaging with exceptional products inside. I intend to find them and share.

Keeping the nail polish for now…It’s Florida, by feet rarely hibernate inside shoes. And I’m on the hunt for a biodegradable toothbrush option. I’m sure there’s one out there.

[Photo was taken at Lucky’s Market, my new obsession. Naked soap, miles of bulk foods and affordable organic veggies.]

Clipper, Tweezers and Oils, Oh My

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I chose my “master bath” to start with today. I have two full baths in my little house and neither of them truly deserve the title master, but it’s the one in the biggest of the three small bedrooms so it is master by default.

I counted 225 items in this space. I included every emery board, the towels and all the rolls of toilet paper. As I continue to move through my home I’ve already identified the difference between some of the items I’m cataloging.

There is a difference, for instance, between something I will use up and something that is a possession, in my opinion. I counted the toilet paper rolls but, God willing, there will always be some number of rolls beneath my sink and that will vary. Same with shampoo, lotions, etc. However, I have also noted where I tend to hoard or collect things, like lotions, so that’s good info.

I will also take furniture out of the overall total when I’m done – the big stuff especially like beds, sofas, coffee and end tables. Items that are more decorative will be counted among possessions. Then I can make the harder decisions.

Pawing through all my barely mentionables in the master bath flung me into a sort of toiletry frenzy. Beyond the master I was compelled to count and catalog the other bathroom. And if I’m going to do that, why not the linen closet? So I did.

In all, the three spaces netted me 552 items. As I write this, nearly everything is scattered about on the floor, my bed and other flat surfaces as I contemplate what to keep and what to release. (I am contemplating these things as I sit at an uncluttered community high top in Starbucks with a venti mug of decaf. Who can think with all that stuff around?!)

Do I really need 5 pairs of tweezers? Are they pairs? Are scissors pairs or is it a scissor? Whatever it/they is/are, the answer is no. I probably also don’t need a ripped open sample packet of lotion that is now hard as cement, or 3 pump bottles of scented stuff.

19 bottles of questionably essential oils will likely be finding a new home. And soap. Soap deserves its own blog. Suffice to say I have about 10 bars of handmade soap and three pumps of hand soap. In two bathrooms.

In the linen closet I became acutely aware of my penchant for incandescent light bulbs. I already knew this and hoarded all I could find when the mandate came down from on high to replace them with the sallow-making, sickness-inducing fluorescent bulbs. What I did not expect to find is so many boxes of travel toothpaste or new tooth brushes. The onus of these would be on my husband who accepts all free gifts from our dentist whether we need them or not. They do come in handy when I travel, so all is forgiven. But some may get lost in the purge. I mean, there are 14 boxes. Fourteen.

Overall this counting then purging process feels really good, almost addictive. I want so much less. I want space. But this is a process and I’m watching myself carefully and taking it slowly.

Now to put my spaces back together again. Should be easy with so much less stuff.

The numbers: After initial purge I’m down 122 items to 430. It’s a start.

If I take out the things that I’ll use up, there’s really much less. Like 173. These items include towels, linens, air mattress, baskets that hold things I’ll run out of at some point among a few pretty little things.

I don’t know that I can have a completely austere home, or want one, but I do know it feels good to know what I do have and what I don’t need. I imagine I’ll purge more throughout the year, decorative and otherwise.

Lighter and lighter.