I’ve set up house a number of times. Sometimes alone and
sometimes with others. Either way, it’s a lot of work bringing order out of the
sheer chaos of boxes strewn about the new empty place. I remember when Jamie
and I packed up our things in San Francisco, hired a mover, saw all our stuff
go off down the street and hoped we’d see it again in Denver. We did. That was
in 1990. We moved into a house on East Third Avenue in which the first thing we
did—before we unpacked anything—was go buy candy to give away since it was
Halloween and we wanted to be part of our new neighborhood.
We got a bedroom set up and the bed made so we could at least
go to sleep in our new house. Next day we set about sorting and arranging our
things in the place we were to live in. For me, the kitchen is the most
important. My kitchen must have a logic to it. Pots and pans close to where
they will be used. Spices and herbs within reach of cooking. Wine and wine
glasses always handy. Less used supplies in more distant cabinets.
We stayed there three years and then moved to where we live
now. We have lived longer at our present address than either of us ever had lived
anywhere else in our lives. We do not intend to move again for some time unless
we are forced to. Forget moving and setting up a new house.
Actually, we are heading in the opposite direction. Not
setting up a house, but sort of tearing one down. Our house is big with lots of
places to stash things. We have watched the detritus pile up. Fortunately, we
have a two car garage that is just about big enough for two cars and not much
else. And we insist on using the garage as a garage, not for extra storage. So,
there are limitations. But stuff still accumulates.
We are trying to slow that accumulation. For birthdays and
anniversaries, we ask for no gifts, please. We even try to get rid of stuff. We
like to call it de-accessioning. I cleared out a shelf of flower vases, for
example, by unloading them on a nearby florist who was glad to take them and
will likely re-use them. Packing material, like those annoying popcorn things
and bubble wrap, if reasonably clean, is welcomed by packing and shipping
places. I have recycled bags full of the stuff. Jamie recently took a trunk
load of old computer bits and accessories to a recycling center. Better they
get broken down into usable parts than sit in our attic.
It takes a little work but it’s easy getting rid of stuff you
don’t like. Now we want to start getting rid of stuff we do like. I plan to
cull through books which I hate to part with but, after a time, they do only
collect dust on a shelf. Clothes too. I have too much now so, I’ve decided that
if I want to buy new clothes, I have to get rid of some of the old.
Largely as an accident, I ended up being the keeper of old
family photo albums. One day, I parceled out some of the ten albums my mother
had put together and sent some to my sisters. After all, their pictures were in
there too.
Some folks become hoarders as they age. They can’t give up
anything. Maybe, they think that’ll be the mark they leave on the world. Maybe
that’s how they establish that they have lived—show a bunch of stuff for it.
Maybe that’s how they remember all they’ve seen and done. If I leave a mark on
this world, I hope it won’t be just a pile of junk for someone else to pitch.
I’m not a hoarder. I take great delight in getting rid of
things. I love downsizing. It’s like losing weight (which is something else I
ought to look into). But while stuff is easy to pass up, ice cream is not.
If I ever set up another house, it will be with less stuff.
Of course, it will probably be smaller so I will be forced to de-accessionize
even more. Some of that may be difficult with tough choices. But really it will
be a joy. Taking apart a house is as much fun as setting one up.
© 12 Sep 2016
About the Author
Nicholas grew up in Cleveland,
then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from
work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga,
writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.
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