Thoughts on Stuff

Attempts at Purging as we do our Fall, now Winter Spring Cleaning

I was sitting in the TranquilBuzz Coffee Shop, Silver City, New Mexico, when I wrote this in early November.

The other coffee shop patrons range in age from very young to older than I. The place is abuzz in conversation. Probably largely around today’s Presidential election. I know that Presidential and President are not capitalized unless followed by a surname but I don’t understand why. Why isn’t the title of the political office in (one of) the greatest countries in the world capitalized, for heaven's sake?

We are staying in Silver City, New Mexico for 3 nights. The weather is sunny but much brisker than we anticipated and I packed for. Told Lauren I had packed a winter coat but in reality my coats are jackets and shackets for this month’s silly Ageless Style fashion post theme – cream and brown.

It was enjoyable to awaken to the early morning sun coming in the cabin’s skylight, seeing that the patchy snow from yesterday morning had not melted off. Listening to the breeze stir about the needles and leaves of the trees our cabin is nestled among.

I love the cabin. Would like to know how many square feet it is. Paul asked me if I could see myself living in something so tiny. I immediately responded YES. But could I? We would have to eliminate most everything we have accumulated in our lives. Definitely the furniture, but most of the mementos, keepsakes and paraphernalia 60+ years of life represent. I would hate that part.

This cabin has a small living area right inside the door with a rocking, reclining couch and a smallish chair in the corner. I was pleasantly surprised to see the adobe fireplace as I feared our cabin was fireplace-less – didn’t see it mentioned in the amenities. To the back of the small living space is a kitchenette that isn’t much more than a counter top with a couple of shelves above. Enough room to make a sandwich, a cup of coffee and some toast. A microwave, a small dormitory-sized refrigerator. Just perfect for our needs these 3 days.

The staircase leads to a king-sized bed tucked in a loft above the living room. There is space enough for the loveseat and a built-in bench for suitcases with a small clothes rack beside it – a makeshift closet. Two stairs step up to the bed, something that worried me with my foot. But so did the log cabin staircase, and I managed to maneuver about both quite well.

A door beside the bed leads out to a balcony that overlooks whispering pines, even one around which the balcony and porch below were built.

Could we, Paul and I, coexist contentedly in such a tiny space beyond 3 days’ time? Where would I scrapbook and paint? Maybe out on the porch only on sunny summer days? Is there a 50 and over baseball league in Pinos Altos that PC could join? Where would family stay when they came to visit? Would they come to visit?

I am reading “The Happiest Man on Earth” by Holocaust survivor, Eddie Jaku. With every account of World War II and the Holocaust that I read, I am more appalled at the cruelty of members of the human race. Jaku, a German Jew, was just a teenager when he was beaten by the SS on Kristallnacht, arrested and sent to the concentration camps, Buchenwald, then Auschwitz and then on the death march over 200 kilometers west to get ahead of the approaching Russian troops. I have read the book at night from the comfort of my bed at home and then, this week, from the cozy comfort of our loft bed in the log cabin where we are staying in Pinos Altos. It is cold in New Mexico. The nighttime lows have dipped well into the 20s. But we have been warm under our mound of blankets and quilts.

At the point in the book where I am reading now, Jaku has just escaped from the death march by diving into a water filled ditch on the side of the road where they are walking. The water was frigid, and he lost his shoes from the force with which he dove into the ditch. Temperatures were below zero that night.

I have experienced such temperatures for very short periods of time in my life but never barefoot. Never during a forced march in threadbare pajamas. I cannot even imagine that cold.

Yesterday in Silver City we visited an antique mall. So many things. All kinds of things. Familiar, household items – we picked up and inspected can openers, Corning Ware casseroles and Saturday Evening Post magazines. I remembered the then Indian, now Native American plastic doll I had once owned in her faux deer hide dress just like several I saw at this mall. Heavy old irons like the one on my shelf at home.

As I looked out over the tables laden with stuff, I started thinking about the lives, the people, all this stuff represented. Commonplace things but also intimate items like jewelry, clothing, postcards, photographs, letters, and mementos. Everything with a tiny price tag stuck to it.

Rather than having all the items sorted and displayed by type, it seemed each table represented the wares or belongings of one family, or one vendor. Nothing really sorted out at all apart from a room of larger kitchen appliances and cookware, even a couple of ovens and old timey refrigerators, and a room for records, CDs and the occasional cassette or 8-track tape.

I remembered the photographs I’ve seen of the mounds of belongings the Nazis confiscated from those sent to the concentration camps. The Auschwitz Memorial alone houses 12,000 kitchen utensils representing what had once been part of daily life to the prisoners before internment. Paul and I spotted a metal pasta server to replace the plastic one with the missing tines we had – he had – recently tossed out. But somehow, I didn’t feel right about buying and using something so personal that had touched the food of another family.

The Nazis collected the dentures and teeth of prisoners before they were killed. Cut off the hair of the women and sent it to furniture manufacturing companies to be used in upholstery. A display of tiny metal framed spectacles in a glass case at the antique mall reminded me of photographs I have seen of scores of tangled, misshapen wirerimmed eyeglasses confiscated from prisoners.

I began to feel a weight come over me standing amid all this stuff. Like a cloud and heaviness. I needed to use the bathroom before we ventured up the street but dreaded walking back through all of this to get to the bathroom at the back of the building. Hurriedly hobbled as fast as my recovering heel would let me.

I felt a sense of relief when we left the antique mall. And didn’t think about it again until later when we were back tucked into our little cabin for the evening. It occurred to me that it wasn’t just the fact that all of those items represented former lives but it was that all of those items represented or reflected the amount of stuff Americans, we, I have in my life. So much of it superfluous.

The cabin where we stayed in Silver City or Pinos Altos, New Mexico for 3 nights was so streamlined, so efficient in its use of space. While there were decorative items about, mostly photographs, prints or watercolors of deer, some throw pillows, and a few pieces of rustic wall art, every flat surface wasn’t burdened with nicknacks. Of course, not because the cabin was a rental. No need and no room for personal items and keepsakes.

The kitchen was functional but nothing in which I would want to cook day to day. Most of all missed having a sink in the kitchen space. But we managed. And table settings and silverware were limited to one of everything, one plate, one spoon, one bowl, one cup per person in this 2-person rental. At home we have a dozen coffee cups. And that many spoons and forks. Sometimes we run out of clean silverware before we have run the dishwasher. But if we were washing up everything after every meal, that wouldn’t happen and we wouldn’t need a dozen butter knives.

It was enjoyable to awaken to the early morning sun coming in the skylight each morning. Seeing from the window beside the bed that the patchy snow that had fallen the day we arrived had not yet melted off the rooftop. Listening to the breeze rustle the needles and leaves of the trees our cabin was nestled among.

I loved the cabin. Would like to know how many square feet it was. Paul asked me if I could see myself living in something so tiny. I immediately responded YES. But could I? We would have to eliminate most everything we have accumulated in our lives. Definitely the furniture, but most of the mementos, keepsakes and paraphernalia 60+ years of life represents. I would hate that part. Or would I feel so free once it was all discarded or purged, sold or given away.

I was happy to be home but immediately felt smothered by all our stuff. Overwhelmed by all the chores that have gone neglected since I broke my foot. Each morning since we returned home, I have awakened and looked about at all the stuff in our bedroom. A part of me wants to gather everything up in a box and take it to Goodwill.

The art on the walls. But what about my mom and dad’s framed wedding announcement? I can’t part with that. The many framed photographs – could I really just scan the pictures into the ‘cloud’ that is Google Photos and throw the prints away, sell the frames? The knickknacks in this room alone, the little hand-me-down hammered silver bowl, the old hand mirrors, baskets of lotion and creams, linen sprays, doilies. Could I just sweep my arm across my dresser and push everything into a box and tape it shut? Then not look back with regret? Would my grandmother’s mirror wind up with a tiny price tag in an antique mall somewhere? Does it matter if it did?

Tomorrow* (we have finished the fall spring cleaning of the downstairs and will start the upstairs this week) we are going to start the fall spring cleaning. I missed doing the spring cleaning in March, April, and May. Started but didn’t get far. Then we traveled a lot in June, July, and August and then my foot. The dust bunnies are full grown rabbits. There are cobwebs where cobwebs don’t belong. Kitty fur adorns every piece of upholstered furniture and dangles delicately from all the drapes. The area rugs are matted with the stuff. Even if we tear the bone out as my mother would say and clean every room, the kitty fur will just return in a matter of days or weeks, and of course, the dust, too, but maybe we can get ahead of it a little.

Going to reflect on the message of the book “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing” as we go into this fall spring cleaning. The author, Marie Kondo, recommends touching every single item as you come to it while cleaning a room. If the item brings joy, keep it. If the item brings stress, anxiety, or apprehension, let it go. This is going to be hard. But I feel like I am drowning and it is time to lighten up.

*Since writing this, PC and I have thoroughly cleaned the first floor of our house. We worked top to bottom: ceiling fans, drapes, art on the walls, windows, blinds, window sills and baseboards, doors and door frames, then dusted all of the furniture, washed the linens, vacuumed, and used the carpet cleaner on the rug. As we cleaned, we tossed things, organized whatever remained. I feel better. Like I can breathe again. But the toughest rooms are yet to come. Now that the holidays are behind us, and Christmas is tucked back in bins in the garage, we will tackle the second floor. And that is where most of the keepsakes live. We’ll see how I make out. Think a good thought for us.