Friday, June 25, 2004
Page 15
AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)
Too Much Material Stuff Is a Lot of Nonsense
By J’AMY PACHECO
As I mentioned in a recent column, I just moved to a new home. During the move, it became painfully apparent that my small family has accumulated too much “stuff.”
We’re voracious readers, and have the shelves filled with books to prove it. I love to cook, and have just about any kitchen tool I might one day need to create some culinary wonder. My daughter and I both collect Barbie and other fashion dolls, and our pretty plastic princesses abound in such numbers that we could probably open our own museum. We have enough plants to stock a small rainforest.
Music, computer games, computer hardware—you name it, we’ve probably got it. What we don’t have is a place to put it.
As I struggled to find space for each item in our new home, I realized some of the “stuff” had to go. So as I’ve unpacked boxes, I’ve been scrutinizing each item, deciding whether it serves a useful purpose in our lives or should go straight into a garage sale/thrift store box.
Some of the decisions have been easy. When I realized I owned five spatulas, I put my two favorites in a kitchen drawer, then tossed the other three into the “bye-bye” box. I came across a melon baller, and after recovering from my initial surprise at learning I owned a melon baller, tossed it into the box. If I hadn’t used it in the last 20 years I never would, I reasoned.
Other decisions have been more difficult. In the bathroom, for example, we have eight bottles of shampoo and conditioner just for my daughter.
It’s not that I’m a clean freak—believe me. My daughter has long, thick hair, so I still wash it for her. To make shampooing more fun, we play a silly game in which I select a “flavor” of shampoo and conditioner, and she tries to guess which I’ve chosen.
I could save space by getting rid of three-fourths of the bottles, but what fun would that be? Besides, I like planting Mommy kisses on top of a head that some days smells like milk and honey, and the next day smells like an ocean breeze.
The agony I’ve experienced over parting with stuff is nothing compared to that exhibited by my eight-year-old packrat. Unpacking her computer games, I realized my offspring—who has had her own computer since the age of two—still had the games she used before she could even talk.
I sorted out the games I knew she would never again play, and left her alone to go through them to confirm my suggestions. I came back later to find her hunched over an enormous stack of computer games, hands rubbing teary eyes.
“Mom,” she wailed. “I just don’t think I can go through with it.” I assured her that the stack of games was just “stuff,” and promised her that if she got rid of it at a garage sale, she could keep the money and decide what to do with her funds.
But as I made my case, I noticed a science game for six-to-nine-year-olds on the top of the stack. I suggested she might want to keep that one.
“Mom,” she said. “That’s the pile I’m keeping.”
Turns out her get-rid-of-pile consisted of exactly three games—two of which were in Spanish. Jump Start Toddler, the Sesame Street games from her youthful years are apparently going nowhere.
Sigh.
Then there’s my husband—the original Mr. Briefcase. He’s never met a briefcase he couldn’t love, honor and cherish until death does them part.
So, it looks like it’s up to me to be ruthless and get rid of my stuff. To the great surprise of all who know me, I’m even considering thinning out my doll collection to make room in this house. For us.
This is harder than you might think. Last weekend, while we shopped for the makings of a Father’s Day dinner, my little girl asked what we could do with watermelon—one of her father’s favorite foods. I described in detail a lovely fruit salad we could make, using the watermelon shell as a bowl we could fill with sliced strawberries and bananas, grapes, and pieces of cantaloupe and watermelon—shaped in little balls, of course.
When we got home, the melon baller I’ve owned for 20 years and never used suddenly became indispensable, and now resides in a kitchen drawer next to two spatulas.
I tell you, it isn’t easy getting rid of stuff. It’s a tough job, but clearly, somebody’s got to do it.
So…anybody out there need an extra spatula? Or three?
Copyright 2004, Metropolitan News Company