I am one of those people who hates clutter but can live with dirt forever. That said I am in disharmony over clutter to the point of disrupting my sleep. Ironically my creative muse is in high gear and running rampant. Perhaps the distress I feel is in tackling clutter when I want to be working. I have been able to squeeze in a couple hours now and then though.
In 1998 a good friend died of brain cancer. I had been the primary caregiver as well as his longtime office manager. He had entrusted me to handle all of his personal affairs from time of diagnosis to death. In the end the defoliation of his house was also bestowed on me. It was really something to sort and dig through someone’s possessions, someone’s life, someone’s stuff to which I had no sentiment. I was ruthless sending all his furniture to auction, all his clothes to charity and all his work files to the shredder. One of the gifts I received from this monstrous task was never, ever leave a mess like that for my daughter to rifle through.
Ever since I have regularly sorted through my own stuff. Closets have been decluttered of stuff we had saved for someday or sentimental reasons. I go through my wardrobe a couple times a year and donate anything ripped, torn or hasn’t been worn in a year; with the exception of the 20 yr old Monet inspired painted shirt with the stretched neck which I still love and still wear.
Another important part of this clearing out process is how it moves energy throughout the house to not have stuff on every square inch of wall or floor space. I like that even though I have too much of my own art on the walls but until a week ago it didn’t really bother me. Now it seems so much must be relocated to make room for more stuff.
The time has come to sort, dessiminate and clean out my father’s home to sell it as he is permanently escounced in assisted living. Lists were made years ago of what goes to whom. I didn’t want to make the list then and now even less want the stuff! The bonus is nothing can be donated or sold until he dies.
So here I am with my own stuff issues now looking at bringing someone else’s stuff into my space to store for potentially years. We have a basement & can store it. I refuse to pay storage on something I don’t want to begin with! That is not the issue.
The issue is how this is messing with my brain. I am not liking this invasion of my space with someone else’s stuff. I will be ruthless in what I allow on to that moving van.
My parents had exquisite taste. Their home was like a museum with fabulous art, quilts, hooked rugs, Shaker furniture etc. It is all beautiful and wonderful stuff. Long ago though I learned I could appreciate beautiful things without possessing them. It is just stuff.
And if this were not enough, yesterday a good friend gifted me ALL of her textile paints as she has changed directions in her fiber pursuits. So I best stop my kvetching and go down to the basement where it is nice and cool and sort paint…hers and mine! Maybe I can get rid of some of my own stuff in the dye room.
It might just be easier to move…
