Yesterday I opened the front door and my heart sank. Though workman had been milling around all day finally fitting the much talked about boiler, and I was expecting a certain amount of mess, what I had not anticipated was suddenly seeing my tiny little cottage,in all it’s shabby, grey, miserable glory. Stuff everywhere! No wood and far too many trees.
(Mama said there’d be days like this..)
Heck yes. This is what happens when you take your rose coloured specs off and take a long hard look at your house. You give yourself the vapours! After a dose of smelling salts I sat myself down with a stiff gin ( I didn’t really. I did.) and tried to work out WHAT THE BLOOMING HECK HAD GONE WRONG. How did life end up looking like this, nay feeling like this?
Readers I came to two conclusions: I had become both slovenly AND greedy. Nothing worse than greedy. Greed is gruesome. Greed for MORE books and pretty things and cushions and candles and terribly charming little vintage portraits and magazines and lots of other things is in fact the opium of the irritated housekeeper. Fed up of your house? Go by yourself something to fix it. Or brighten it up. Or make yourself feel like a fully functioning human being instead of the person responsible for creating this downtrodden mess in the first place.
Hell I’m talking all kinds of tough tonight. Be afraid. I am in a rather dodgy frame of mind…
See the thing is this: I have fallen head long into a trap I have been cheeky enough to have been warning YOU about for years. I have started to accumulate TRASH simply because I have not been mindful enough to keep on recognising what it is that is worth TREASURING in my life. How depressing is that? Tres depressing m’lady. Tres, tres.
I seem to be in the business of accumulation you see. Accumulation, and then, (oh woe is me) the ongoing business that is MANAGING the nonsense I have accumulated. Ugh. Imagine that! Ruining the order of each promising, beautiful day just shifting stuff around. Making space. Compromising yourself. Trying to utilise what little space you have got on your bookcase. And in your head. Trying to fit it all in, for the sake of HAVING.
Owning that 1932
I am jumping off the accumulation wagon and I am dragging you with me. (Don’t argue – I am simply not in the mood!). You see were we able to view our lives as films we would see ourselves trying to fill holes with STUFF instead of ACTION. That is dreadful. Awful. Rubbish. Not good enough. Yeah, that’s it: trying to fill holes with stuff instead of action is simply not good enough. It doesn’t work and in the end it exhausts us.
So here is where I am at. I am done. I have got a roll of bin-bags at the ready and I am going to make SPACE. Stand still and I will pop you in one. I need to be able to see what it is I treasure. To feel treasured by all that I make room for in my life: for books that speak to my soul and shampoo that makes my hair shine. Nothing that is ok, or acceptable or possibly useful. I don’t want second best. I want the excellent and the precious and that is all: memories, objects, clothes, people and words alike. And then I want to treasure it all silly. Polish it and dust it. Treat it gently. Carefully. With pride. Nurture it and darn it. Lick it. Clean it and cry with it.
As my Dad always says, it is time to get shut. I dare you. Heck I dare myself. Let’s do it. Let’s GET. SHUT.