Falling out of love

I come from a history of "stuff" people. I'm not saying that any of my ancestors were hoarders or anything; I'm just saying that a lot of my relatives really liked (and still like) to surround themselves with their favorite objects—all one billion of them.

Perhaps your lineage is similar to mine (rampant with collectors); or, it's possible that you just happen to be in love with stuff, like most of the folks in our country. If I'm talking about you, and you'd like to change, I have a wonderful solution. Read on.

First, get big piles of your belongings—not the stuff you use every day, mind you, but the stuff that you like and that isn't sentimentally loaded with meaning. For example, the bowl set you got on sale (but not Aunt Mary's measuring cup). The funky little lamp that was on clearance but doesn't really match anything in your home, the kitchen "convenience" that has been responsible for more dust bunnies than culinary wonders. Or you men: the third tool set, perhaps, or the great gift, years old now, that has never left its box.

Now, put all those items in containers and hide them completely out of sight—in the attic, a shed, the darkest corner of your basement.

Then, wait at least six weeks. Don't peek in the boxes.

And then, peek. Ponder how little you've missed the items. Think deeply about how their absence made not one iota of difference in your day-to-day life.

Take it a step further: picture in your mind all those same items, along with all your other truly necessary possessions, being hoisted, lifted, and cursed quietly by your friends who have to pick them up and move them to another dwelling.

Now, take all the items you've suddenly realized you can easily live without, and cull any truly valuable pieces for secondhand sales attempts on craigslist. The rest of that stuff? Place it all in the back of your car. Drive to a nearby charity. Leave it there, and drive away.

(Regarding the re-sale attempts, establish a firm, short sales window and stick with your deadline; if the items don't sell, get rid of them the same way you got rid of the rest.)

Finally, breathe deeply. Life is all about perspective. You just had to gain a new perspective about a significant chunk of your household trappings. All that was required was a mental image of people you know and like, sweating and struggling, working to transfer all those unused space stealers.

It's so easy to fall out of love. Isn't it?

“Home-work," stuffitis and odd phobias

Here’s a photo showing the new color of the foundation of our house. Next to it is an old pic. The light blue was the pale, spiritless color we inherited; lively pea green is the new, warmer, more inviting shade. Next year’s plans include coffee brown shutters and repainted brown railings, etc. to match. AND finding a paint shade to match the brick, to cover up the sloppy, we-don’t-need-no-stinkin'-blue-tape paint job of the previous owner. (We’ll see if all this actually happens.)

Note: If you want to learn a lot about yourself—and the state of any relationships near and dear to you—start a home improvement project. ‘Nuf said. I’m proud to report that our marriage has now survived unemployment, freelance employment, 3 moves, 2 home purchases, a remodeled kitchen, and painting on the outside of the current dwelling.

Right now, Todd is trying to seize one of the last seasonable October days and clean out/reorganize the garage. It’s amazing the amount of stuff you accumulate. Things you forgot you had—now honestly, how pathetic is that? How can we have so much stuff that we forget what we have? It’s kind of an American sickness, stuffitis. And the regular cure for stuffitis can become a regular job: the job of minimizing possessions. Hence Todd’s activities this afternoon.

Any of you who know me are probably already quite aware that I love getting rid of stuff. Not throwing it away—I actually have a phobia about that, especially food—but just getting stuff out of my house and/or out of my life. It’s a heady feeling, lightening your personal load in this world. I’d suggest that all of you give it a try; the most reluctant of you should take the biggest load to the Goodwill. Or heck, in this convenient day and age, call Goodwill or its competitors; some of those charities will come to your house and take it from you for free! Can you beat that with a stick?

Anyway, I really do have some sort of mental issues about throwing things away. I can’t find an actual name for it, but I did learn while searching on Google that there is such a thing as “fear of throwing up.” Its name is emetophobia. Seriously. Are there any silent sufferers out there reading this, cowering in corners, clutching your antibacterial gel in hopes of evading the latest stomach flu germs? Come, step out of those dark places, drop the antibacterial crap and grab a sturdy bucket or plastic garbage can. Hold it high! Don’t be ashamed—it’s okay to hurl!

Okay. Enough silliness. Go clean out that garage or basement now. Go on, get to it.