Spring Clean!

A number of contributing factors have brought me to the point I'm now at.  First, we moved house in a rush about two years ago.  Second, my husband has had depression for a long time and it's basically been me trying to hold things together domestically for at least two years.  Third, we have not had that critical moment where we accept that many of the things we used to do before children just aren't going to be on the agenda for at least another ten years.  Finally, we are both former pack rats.

Those are the reasons for why we are where we are.  No matter which way you cut it, we have too much stuff.  And unfortunately it's not just "I'll never use that stuff" it's more "I'll probably use that ten years from now so I better hang onto it" stuff.

Charles' weakness is books.  The man operates on the 18th Century system - books are valuable, each one takes a monk four years to birth, ergo we never throw a single one out and one day I will pass them on to my children in pristine glory and they will be on-their-knees grateful for the wonderful legacy I have bestowed on them.  It does not bother him a whit that he'll likely never read half of them ever again in this lifetime or, that if he suddenly becomes unemployed/a paraplegic/develops Alzheimer's or any other reason that would make him want to read them again, that he can now buy most of them for less than $5 with free shipping from book depository.  Nor does it concern him that the instant he croaks his kids will be loading up the nearest trailer with most of his beauties and gifting them to a very needy recycling centre.

My weakness is more insidious.  Fabric and craft.  I've got a whole wardrobe full of the stuff and I only just realised this week that I buy the things I need for specific projects and I almost never get creative with what's on hand.  It makes no sense on earth to save every scrap from projects past because I am never going to use them.  I had this epiphany only just last week when my aunt handed me a box of fabric scraps, trims and bias binding that she had received from an elderly friend who recently gave up sewing.  That box was a veritable treasure trove.  The things in it were likely extremely valuable when you considered how much the lady in question paid for them.  And I am never, ever going to use them.  It became the foundation of a very large pile of fabric and craft stuff destined for day care or charity.

The science of stuff and its accumulation is scary and intriguing all at once.  To start with, so much of our stuff is disposable.  Think about the plastic cutlery, straws and papers napkins you'll use in your lifetime.  Stupendous.  Now think of how many happy meal toys there must be cluttering up landfill.  Terrifying.  Then there's the accidental collections.  I was discussing the accumulation of stuff with my Dad and he admitted to having about a dozen baseball caps that he doesn't remember getting in the first place and that he never wears.

Know how this starts?  You have one hat you keep in case someone wants to wear it.  You get a complimentary hat in a show bag, it goes with the first one.  Someone notices you have more than one hat, they figure awesome, you collect, I've got Christmas sorted and they buy you another one with a cool logo*.  Soon you're the guy that collects hats and you have to buy a rack to hang them all on.  You have the power to make a day care centre somewhere very happy but you probably never think about the 11 baseball caps collecting dust that no one wears.  Plus, you need something to hang on your rack now.

Finally there's the gifts.  Why do we even buy each other gifts once we make it past the age of eight?  Even if you buy me coasters because I need coasters, chances are they will be the last coasters on earth I would have bought**.  And I'm the sort of person who feels so guilty about not liking gifts that I will have to begin a complicated series of maneuverings to get rid of the coasters in a manner that will make you feel that I liked your gift while simultaneously getting them out of my house as fast as possible.  I will use them the first time you come so you feel that I appreciate your thoughtful gift.  Then they will go in a cupboard for two years.  If you do not mention them they will immediately be given to the Salvos.  If you do mention them I will claim that my 72-year-old father took a fancy to them when he was staying with us and then they mysteriously disappeared.  I will nod sadly and say he's getting a bit like that.

I'm on holidays this week and moving through the stuff with determination.  Already one trailer load has left for landfill and another is being prepped for charity.  There's also a sizeable number of things that must be returned and another massive garbage bag destined for the day care centre.  The house is starting to look reasonable again and I feel like I can breathe.  Now to talk to my man about his bibliophilia.  The first step is admitting you have a problem...and then you can let the healing begin.

*  One year my in-laws gave us an awesome biscuit jar shaped like a cupcake.  The next year my Dad gave us another biscuit jar shaped like a cow.  Charles and I looked at each other over the top of this quite cool gift and silently agreed that while it was indeed awesome, we would not let it grace our bench top for a single day because the instant anyone saw the two of them, we would suddenly be the couple who collect crazy biscuit jars.  And we all know what happens after that.
** This is not strictly true.  My mother-in-law bought me a set of coasters almost ten years ago now and they are still the only coasters I own and use.  But you can see what an incredible fluke that is.