Hidden Treasures

Truth be known, if one more “thing”, be it large or small, enters my home, the structure that appears permanently amalgamated and one with the earth will begin to slowly slide down the mountain.  I have a lot of stuff.  There, I said it.  I just hope my husband doesn’t read this heart -bearing testimonial and say “I told you so”.

I didn’t start out to be a pack rat.  And I really don’t think I am one now (please note I’m in big time denial).  Perhaps what I am is a purveyor of sorts: a maker of memories, an engineer of “hominess”, and the ancestral anthropologist for my family’s goods.  The situation is serious.  Although admitting that there is a problem could be my first step to finding open yards of floor space and hollow shelves.  But honestly, is that where one finds true happiness? It makes me think those places would just become another region to vacuum and dust, and, in all frankness, becomes a thankless problem that needs to be addressed, with fervor, another time.

How and when did these precious belongings start coming into my house?  I could blame it on having a child and since he didn’t come with clothing, toys or bedding when he was born, a mother has to quickly adapt and address these immediate needs.  It was especially helpful when I learned about the sale racks and could buy next season’s sizes (even two sizes, if it was a classic) at a fraction of the cost or purchase Lego’s for future gift giving.  Perhaps having my entire collection of LP albums from high school close to me brings me comfort and floods me of memories past.  Never mind the fact that for twenty plus years I haven’t have a record player to play them on.  My husband, who I am realizing is an accomplice and enabler, presented me with a record player as a holiday gift.  Another item into the house, and I couldn’t say “NO”…it might have hurt his feelings and curtailed his future gift-giving (and that wouldn’t be good).

This could be an inborn trait, a compulsive idiosyncrasy that can be traced back to the innate, human need to gather fruits and nuts for seasonal consumption.  Or, it could be I have inherited this talent from generations of habitual collectors who hold onto goods for dear life and systematically hand them down to others allowing the cycle to begin again.  There is nothing wrong with storing away the “good” toys from your kids to hand down to grandchildren that are probably a good 20-30 years in the making.  I see tradition in keeping that special menorah until my son has a home of his own.  And displaying “finds” from successful thrift store hunts is a tribute to ones fine honed skills.  Besides, these chattels could be valuable one day.

Maybe I just need to resist when I have an “urge”, suppress the impulse, start minimizing and simplify my life of stuff.  Where do you begin to purge?  It could be those boxes in the garage that have traveled from house to house and haven’t seen the light of day in 10 years…but if I did open them, I would probably find a treasure that yes, I may have forgotten but now found I cannot part with and cannot imagine living without.  I haven’t even taken into consideration all the new gadgets that come out every season that the catalogs and stores make so desirable.  You don’t want to offend anyone, after they put so much time and work into designing and displaying these items, not to buy them.

As I analyze the best place to begin my eradication effort, I am looking forward to having lake-shore property as my house makes its way methodically down the slope… that cute little garden gnome I have saved all this time will look perfect next to the lake – whew, isn’t that just lucky I kept it.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life. Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-