There are two major reasons I don’t spend large amounts of time on housecleaning. One reason is that in my adult life I have never stayed in one place, one house, for years and years and years. Well, fifteen is about the most. Every time I’ve moved even within the area I have been forced to evaluate all my stuff--not just my stuff--but a good bit of the stuff of my three children and other family members. Then comes decision time. Either keep it and move it or throw it away. By stuff I mean memorabilia. Hundreds of photos, 8mm movies, 16mm movies that were my grandparents’, Lynne’s 1st book of drawings entitled “drawn flowers.” Or there’s her labor of love she produced in 2nd grade in the Netherlands when we lived there for two years--a drawing of a face with the words “voor Moeder Dag” glued onto a perfectly crafted wooden frame and given to me for Mother’s Day.
Or there’s Beth’s second grade handwriting exercise with the ever-so carefully drawn words:
“I wish teachers would not give us so much work
Because it makes my fingers hurt.”
Or her hand-bound booklet of birthday greetings for mom and the words “I love you” written on every page.
Or how about John’s ninth grade Mothers’ Day creation:
“One fair day, ‘Twas the month of May, A maiden received a card fair and gay." The poetry goes on and then finally, "Fair maiden cannot you see. The labor invested in this card for thee? Upon a high mountain I meditated, and to this point my thoughts did sway. I want to wish you a Happy Mothers’ Day."
All of these are precious bits of my life which I will never throw away. I have said so often: someone else will have to throw these things away for me after I am gone. Then THEY can do the housecleaning. THEY can decide what to keep and what to throw out.
I have much memorabilia passed down to me from parents and grandparents as well. These items will never be the victims of a housecleaning frenzy either. The few times I have considered going through memorabilia and doing some housecleaning, I have ended up spending the better part of the day reading, studying the items, and learning new things about my forebears.
Just to name a few treasures: The story of the Drib Yoj written by my grandmother Edith Rand. (The Drib Yoj, you know, is the Joy Bird.) Newspaper articles and photos describing the lives of my grandparents, great grand parents and in some cases their grandparents.
An article clipped from the New York Herald Tribune draws my attention. It is about the family gathering to celebrate my great grandmother’s 100th birthday. The words on the fragile, yellowed newsprint describe the life of no ordinary woman. Cecelia McConnell, my great grandmother, grew up in Illinois, knew Abraham Lincoln and heard the Lincoln-Douglas debates. At the age of five years she traveled from the East to the mid west in a covered wagon. Then ninety-five years later at the age of 100 she returned to her home on one of the first passenger planes to fly the skies. I was two years old at her one hundredth birthday party and I doubt anyone I know will ever throw out the photo of Cecelia 100 years old with her great grandchildren.
Not all treasures I come across in my housecleaning are ancient. One piece of family history I have acquired very recently. Cecelia’s son, my grandfather Ira McConnell, died before I was born so I have no memory of him. In spite of that I have recently gotten to know him a little bit. Last summer while visiting the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park I came across a bit of information previously unknown to me. Gill and I were camping in the park campground. We had been to the visitor center and brought back to the campsite with us a couple of brochures about the history of the area. I was reading the brochure about East Portal, the town at the bottom of the canyon on the Gunnison River. The town had a tiny community that had sprung up in 1904 when the site for the Gunnison Tunnel was chosen. The brochure describes the conceiving of the tunnel which would carry the waters of the Gunnison River five long miles through the 2000 foot solid rock cliff wall to the arid Uncompahgre Valley to the West. Surveying the tunnel and actually digging it would be a daunting engineering challenge.
Reading on I see a picture of the man I never knew but I have seen enough pictures of my Grandfather to recognize him even as a young man. Quoting from the brochure my recognition is confirmed.
“The jovial Ira McConnell explored the depths of the canyon. He completed surveys that pinpointed the tunnel headings and towns of East Portal in the canyon, and Lujane on the valley side of the tunnel. He guided tunnel construction through the most difficult of problems.”
“Look, Gill,” I yelled. “It’s my grandfather. He is here in this brochure.” This discovery took me completely by surprise, although I knew my grandfather had engineered tunnels in Colorado in the early 1900’s. But the Gunnison Tunnel--I had no idea! This was very exciting, indeed! I returned to the visitor center where I helped myself to a good supply of the brochures knowing I would want to give some away and have some to add to my memorabilia.
I’m quite sure I accumulate material at a faster rate than I get rid of it. This makes housecleaning all the more difficult--downright impossible.
Remember, I said there were two reasons for avoiding serious housecleaning. The second reason is that I have found that housecleaning is hazardous to your health.
It can result in confusion and memory loss and sometimes stress. Let me explain.
Housecleaning can be physically hazardous.
Mop the kitchen floor and lately I find I’m wiped out for the day. These housecleaning chores have become exhausting. I think I would almost rather go to the gym and do a two hour strenuous workout, or climb Lookout Mountain on my bicycle. Nowhere near as exhausting. I wonder why that is?
Another hazard. The minute I settle into a new home I find the perfect place to house my precious memorabilia. Items that cannot be filed in a filing cabinet; such as some of the treasures mentioned above. Then a couple of years later for whatever reason a surge of energy comes upon me and I am inspired to do some housecleaning and find an even more perfect place to store my things that I treasure.
So I move them to their new, improved resting place. Next time I go to look up one of these items it’s not where it should be. Where, then is it? Of course, I have forgotten where the new, improved resting place is. I remember clearly where it used to be. Why did I change it? Or sometimes I remember very clearly where I stored my treasures in my previous home. But I no longer live there. I live HERE.
Where IS the stuff, anyway
Someday I will learn to spend my energy doing something more useful than moving things around. Let them be. As a result of what I think is a housecleaning endeavor, I’m just confused, stressed, searching, and the house is no cleaner--all because I was inspired to do some clearing out.
Now I have confirmed that housecleaning causes stress. Today I cannot put my hands on that treasured photo of my great, great, great grandparents homestead on the Erie Canal. BEFORE housecleaning at least I didn’t know that I didn’t know where it was.
April1,2013
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