Day 214: Chewbacca Doll, Matchbox Car, Flashlight, Phone Cord and Plastic Box
Yesterday, Rich made me promise that I would not get rid of any photographs. We've got two giant plastic boxes full of them, snapshots from the days before digital cameras. He says people love photographs. He says that if he had a pacemaker, I'd be eyeballing it, complaining that it's too squat and suggesting that someone else might get more value out of it than him.
What is the point of this project, now that I am running out of things to get rid of? I have a rule that says that everyone in the household has the right to refuse to get rid of anything they want. Sam can keep his hand puppets, and his Nerf guns and water pistols, his soccer balls and skim boards. Rich can keep his photographs, and his music gear.
I don't know what the next 152 days have in store. I may be just a little sorry for those heady days, months ago, when I gave away entire wheelbarrows full of electronics and cartons full of bedsheets. But I'm determined not to give up. I've already invested 213 days.
The funny thing is, though, that scraping the barrel is starting to make a difference in my daily life in a way that wheelbarrows never did. I ridiculed myself for the lameness of the KitchenAid owner's manual last week, but getting rid of that owner's manual has actually created more order than getting rid of the stack of owner's manual from the owner's manual file box in the more distant past. The KitchenAid owner's manual is so insignificant, I haven't really seen it since I placed it on that shelf. But now that it's gone, that little shelf is more orderly. It's easier to find the stuff I'm really looking for. When I reach into that shelf now, I get a little feeling of satisfaction. Yesterday, I framed a couple of lithographs, moved my mystery writer's teapot to the spot they'd been occupying, and made room on the little bookshelf below my mirror for lipstick and foundation. This morning when I put on my make-up, it was easy to see it, easy to apply it, easy to feel a frisson of pride for the work that went into making that little space more functional.
I liken it to getting your teeth cleaned at the dentist. Every day, you're brushing and flossing, freshening your breath and getting rid of the crumbs between your teeth. But at the dentist, they use picks to scrape away the invisible tartar. It's a little uncomfortable, but at the end, your teeth feel clean. Really clean.
So that's what I'm doing now. Scraping tartar off my cupboards and shelves. I don't know if there are 153 more items to be scraped and cleaned away, and I'm resolved not to scrape away any enamel just for the sake of writing about it. But I'm eagerly awaiting that day when the entire property is clean, fresh and free of tartar. After that, who knows?
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