Sigh. I don't function well when things around me are in an uproar. I worked so hard to get my new place under control. Perhaps I am, after all, a control freak. My bathroom, kitchen, laundry room and bedroom are mostly settled. Really, it is the living room become Drew's room that is spilling over into the dining room and hallway. You can hardly find a spot to put your foot down!
Of course, the new wrinkle is the lack of a storage area. So I now find tucked in my super giant sized closet the spare tire, the Christmas decorations, the camping gear and various other non-personal items. Normally, these things would go in the front hall closet, but that is where Drew's things must reside, and it is already too small to accommodate his stuff. So I tuck it carefully in my area. It fits OK - the closet is well shelved and there is lots of room beneath my hanging clothes for the plastic bins.
Several living room items like the tray tables are now living in my bedroom as well. I had not realized that Drew is a "keeper of unnecessary stuff" - he has not yet learned to keep it light and be free of the burden of possession. Unlike home owners, apartment dwellers must, out of self defense, not hang on to things 'just in case.' I wish Drew could pack rat all his desired boxes and bits and pieces to his heart's content. But he will not have that luxury unless he manages to purchase a house and stay put there for decades like my grandparents Appleby. I can still smell the heat and dry wood and dust of the attic in the summer when we got to explore the castoffs of an older generation. They were lucky to have a place to keep their history. Even for them though, comes a time when you have no choice but to let go. You can't take it with you, as the saying goes.
One of my colleagues has mentioned that his first retirement task is to purge his garage, shed, basement, attic and house of thirty years of collecting stuff. Of hanging on to something just in case. Of not wanting to discard something that still has some life in it. I understand both the reason a person would end up in such a state and the daunting task he will face when the time comes. I watched my parents break down my grandparents home of 60 years. I watched my siblings break down my parent's home of 30 years. Neither was a pretty picture.
But that is neither here nor there. At the moment, my task is a bit more paring. This is a good step for me and the size of the new place a help in weeding things down to a more manageable state of affairs. After all, how much stuff does one person need, really? A few clothes, a few dishes, a comfy chair and bed, a small table - and by most of the world's standards, owning such I am considered tremendously wealthy and blessed. I refuse to purchase any more storage areas or enabling cabinetry. I will shed what I cannot accommodate and do so with joy. I just wish Drew wasn't so sad about tossing empty packages and boxes that his stuff came in.
Of course, the new wrinkle is the lack of a storage area. So I now find tucked in my super giant sized closet the spare tire, the Christmas decorations, the camping gear and various other non-personal items. Normally, these things would go in the front hall closet, but that is where Drew's things must reside, and it is already too small to accommodate his stuff. So I tuck it carefully in my area. It fits OK - the closet is well shelved and there is lots of room beneath my hanging clothes for the plastic bins.
Several living room items like the tray tables are now living in my bedroom as well. I had not realized that Drew is a "keeper of unnecessary stuff" - he has not yet learned to keep it light and be free of the burden of possession. Unlike home owners, apartment dwellers must, out of self defense, not hang on to things 'just in case.' I wish Drew could pack rat all his desired boxes and bits and pieces to his heart's content. But he will not have that luxury unless he manages to purchase a house and stay put there for decades like my grandparents Appleby. I can still smell the heat and dry wood and dust of the attic in the summer when we got to explore the castoffs of an older generation. They were lucky to have a place to keep their history. Even for them though, comes a time when you have no choice but to let go. You can't take it with you, as the saying goes.
One of my colleagues has mentioned that his first retirement task is to purge his garage, shed, basement, attic and house of thirty years of collecting stuff. Of hanging on to something just in case. Of not wanting to discard something that still has some life in it. I understand both the reason a person would end up in such a state and the daunting task he will face when the time comes. I watched my parents break down my grandparents home of 60 years. I watched my siblings break down my parent's home of 30 years. Neither was a pretty picture.
But that is neither here nor there. At the moment, my task is a bit more paring. This is a good step for me and the size of the new place a help in weeding things down to a more manageable state of affairs. After all, how much stuff does one person need, really? A few clothes, a few dishes, a comfy chair and bed, a small table - and by most of the world's standards, owning such I am considered tremendously wealthy and blessed. I refuse to purchase any more storage areas or enabling cabinetry. I will shed what I cannot accommodate and do so with joy. I just wish Drew wasn't so sad about tossing empty packages and boxes that his stuff came in.
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