How much is too much?

Do you own your stuff or does your stuff own you? At this very moment, my stuff owns me. It's everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. I don't qualify for the tv show "The Hoarders", but I imagine this is how some of the hoarders started out. It starts innocently enough. I'm going to keep those clothes because I might fit back into them one day. HA HA HA! I'm going to keep that game because we might want to play it again someday. I have to keep the kids artwork because it is so cute and a reminder of those preschool days. They might want to see it one day. The problem is that all of my one days and somedays are taking over my house. I want to look around and not see extraneous stuff everywhere. (that is possible, right?)
We have a garage full of stuff. I have no idea what most of it is. Some people advocate that if you haven't even opened a box in two years, you should just throw it all out. That makes me sweat just a little bit simply typing the words. I have promised myself that before 2009 is over, I am going to go through that stuff. What isn't important is going away. I will keep some of the kids preschool work, but not ALL of it. I will keep a select few of my old clothes, (just in case of 80's days at school-my kids are prepared with my calvin kleins and duran duran t's) The bulk of the stuff is going away.
Hopefully, after I tackle the garage I will be able to move to the stuff in the house. I would love to reclaim our guest room from the boxes that live there now. I would love to organize our craft/office/school supplies so I don't keep buying the same stuff because I don't know where to find it. Wow, that is profoundly sad. and wasteful. I guess that is part of my inspiration. I want to practice good stewardship. That's a word we usually only hear in church, but it makes sense in my situation. I am not taking care of the stuff I am in charge of. I am letting my stuff have a life of its own. It is time for me to be responsible for my stuff. It is time to stop letting my stuff own me. I'll let you know how it goes.

So last night we went swimming after a disastrous open house at middle school. (Isn't middle school just a disaster anyway?) We had a good time in the pool, thankful again that my parents are so generous with their pool. We all left at different times on our ripsticks and bikes, so it was getting dark, just past what you could call dusk, when I hopped on my bike. All along the road lightning bugs lit up as I pedalled past. What a great end to the day...

through a mirror dimly

I know that we aren't going to know. I know that we aren't. But that doesn't keep me from wanting to know, wanting to understand. And we don't get to understand now. Dang it.

One more reason that laundry sucks

It is no secret that my least favorite chore is doing the laundry. It's never done. As soon as all of the clothes are washed, dried and put away, there are more loads to do. Or if you dislike it as much as I do, there are A LOT more loads to do. I have been putting it off for a week. I told myself I was too busy. Too much going on. Which is just a bad excuse, when isn't there too much going on. More important things to do. Again, there are ALWAYS more important things to do than the laundry. So I finally tackled it yesterday. Got most of it done, and some of it put away. Later last night I got around to the loads of only my clothes. The ones that need to be washed in cold water, some of them hung to dry. And as I put the clothes in the washer I realized with a sudden cold clarity why I had been putting it off. At the bottom of this particular pile was one of my favorite sweaters.
My grandmother, Mazel English died last week. Well, over a week ago now. She broke both of her arms before Thanksgiving, had surgery on both, was in the rehab/nursing home place and we all hoped she was going to get strong enough to go home. She didn't. There were other complications, but she developed an infection that took a great toll on her body. The last week in the hospital was hard. She could communicate a little until the last day. She nodded and shook her head and occasionally smiled. And then she stopped. My sister was here (she lives about 3 hours away). She thought Gramma's head looked uncomfortable so she asked me to hand her the small pink pillow on the shelf. I handed it to her and we used it to prop Gramma's head up a little. Her face rested against the soft material for her last day in this world. The small pink pillow that wasn't a pillow after all, but my sweater. And there it was. In my laundry basket.
One more reason that I don't like laundry.

Gratitude

I am trying to remember to be thankful. Thanksgiving (Fanks, Ty) is fantastic, but we should be remembering our blessings every day. I am not sure how I lucked into this funny life. I don't understand why I should be blessed in so many ways when there is so much suffering all over our world. There's a sentence that often follows here about how it isn't all sunshine and roses, and someone will often follow that with "everyone has their own cross to bear" but all of that sounds hollow to me. No, life isn't perfect. My house is usually a disaster, there are days when I feel like a failure as a parent and a wife, there are days when I feel so mean I am surprised that the dog and cat still want to follow me around (the other cat says "forget you woman") but still, I lead a life full of people, friendships, family and love. I am thankful for God who says, you are not going to understand. There will come a day when you will understand. But today, is not that day. You will have to wait. And so I wait. and I try to remember how fortunate I am, and put as much back into the world as I can.
Because I am thankful.