I find myself living in a house with a lot of built-in display space. Previous residences having been heavy on bare walls and light on decorative touches, this is the first time I’ve had to sooth empty shelves and glass fronted cabinets crying out to be filled.
In response to the uncomfortably naked shelves, I set about rounding up various trinkets that had been hidden in cupboards and closets for so long I was surprised to see them.
A vase here, a photo album there, and me being me, a couple of stuffed animals and I was done. Bits and pieces of a life laid out before me. A pastiche of family, and trips, and time.
Each object holds a memory, a story. Most of them G-rated except for one small glass dish, edged in blue. Entirely unexceptional unless, like me, you happen to remember the hour preceding its purchase 🙂
One item though, doesn’t have a story.
I don’t know where it came from or when. It was just always there, a doorstop in my parent’s house. I look at it now and I wonder…
I throw stuff out. If we’re not using it, it’s gone … I wish. Unfortunately, I share my house and my life with someone who likes to keep things. What if we need — insert article of your choice, anything from a noisy fan to an god-awful soup tureen — this someday?
If we needed it, it wouldn’t be hidden under five years of dust.
We’ve been negotiating this divide for decades now and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Our place, yesterday:
“I’ve going to have these old family videos converted to digital files.” Silence. Stare. “You still have to keep the original tapes. For backup.”
Huh? The whole point is to get rid of these things!
I’m guessing that my brilliant idea to scan pictures from our pile of photo albums — which we almost never drag out of the basement — and toss the albums won’t be appreciated.
I spend a lot of time muttering about hoarders, but …
This morning, in a drawer that in my opinion needs to be organized, I found two green plastic bangles. Bracelets that a nineteen year old me had purposely left after a first date. Forty-two years ago and my husband still has them.