Stuff...I AM NOT A COMPULSIVE HOARDER!

I'm reading a book titled "Stuff: Compuslive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things" by Randy O. Frost and Gail Steketee. It is an assignment from The Internet Review of Books site. I am to review it for an upcoming issue. Actually, my deadline has passed. But I have reasons for not meeting it....

It is a difficult book for me to read. I can't read it in the family room because my eyes keep wandering. I will read a sentence such as "possessions become part of an individual's sense of self...." Next thing I know I'm staring at the overstuffed bookshelves lining the wall of my family room and my thoughts turn to the boxes full of books that can't be displayed because I have no more shelves. Do I think to get rid of the books? God no!

I try to figure out how to slip the cost of more bookshelves into the family budget.

I definitely can't read this book in the craft room, affectionally called the 'crap' room. [Note: photo above of just one tiny portion of the room. Everything stays, except the cat can come and go at will.]

I'd never get through the book's descriptions of 'stacks of boxes' or 'amazing junk.' Anyone who accumulates odds and ends to use in their multi-media or mixed media or eco-friendly art or craft will feel the pinch as I did when I read "Irene put pieces of broken toys, packing material, and the like in a box she labeled AMAZING JUNK." The difference between my multi-media artist friends and me -- they actually make something out of the 'junk' -- I am still in the accumulation phase.

If I read this book in the kitchen, I am reminded that I really should clean out the cupboards. The bathrooms -- I can read there. But then I realize it has been too long since I gave it a thorough cleaning. Reading in the dining room makes me aware of another problem I have: nibbling. Reading and nibbling go together like Abbot and Costello. Can't have one without the other, especially in the dining room. I'm running out of rooms. The bedrooms are adjacent to closets -- also in need of good cleanings -- and full of who knows what stuff. Weren't closets designed to hold 'stuff' that you don't want anyone to see? The clutter you pick up when preparing for guests?

Yesterday I finally cleaned the screened in porch. Vacuuming away the cat hair, washing down the grill. Rearranging furniture and reacquainting my potted plants with the sunshine out there. A clean little oasis. Other than the 90 degree temperature and the 100 percent humidity, a perfect place to read about Stuff.

I may not meet deadline for this review.

Who knew it would be so difficult to read about stuff and compulsive accumulation and shopping.... did I mention that the Discover card bill arrived in the mail yesterday? But really now. I haven't purchased new clothes in years and it has been even longer since I fed my fabric stash. So those were all necessary purchases.... I still need new shoes. Imeda Marcos (who apparently had the compulsive buying aspect of the compulsive hoarding disease) I am not! One pair of dress shoes (at least 10 years old) and one pair of sneakers at least 2 years old does not make for a hoard. Thankfully there is something I show control over. Anyway, fabric is NOT 'stuff' it is art, beauty, -- potential.

But, just in case, I'm backing away from online shopping....

Another aspect of this hoarding compulsion seems to stem from low self esteem and perfectionism. And that may explain why I have the parts, pieces, tools and books that tell me how to make something out of all of the accumulated fabrics and embellishments. And why I never seem to get around to making or finishing the projects. I feel the need of a psychiatrist or therapist to get me straightened out. But the expense of the treatment....

Perhaps the cure is to simply stop reading this damn book! I think I feel better already. Of course, I won't throw it away or give it away. I will find a tight little space on my overstuffed bookshelves and cram it in with the rest of the books I should read.....

Stuff defines you?

Feeling tired? Inertia got you stuck in your chair? Procrastination rules your life?

It isn't your fault.

Blame it on the junk mail, the fast food condiment packets, the orphan socks. The skinny clothes hanging in your closet and aunt Isabel's china that you inherited when she downsized and moved into her little apartment. These are sapping your strength.

Stuff. That's the problem. Bob Graham, essayist and computer programmer, suggests:

"A cluttered room saps one's spirits. One reason, obviously, is that there's less room for people in a room full of stuff. But there's more going on than that. I think humans constantly scan their environment to build a mental model of what's around them. And the harder a scene is to parse, the less energy you have left for conscious thoughts. A cluttered room is literally exhausting."

Getting rid of 'stuff' is exhausting, too. And almost heart wrenching until it is gone. Then our brains and bodies adjust, block out the memories of the stuff, now gone, and expands to fill the space with pleasant relaxing appreciation of the simplified landscape.

For a full week I devoted every waking hour to eradicating my house of clutter and 'stuff.' If you ever watch these 'get organized' programs on television, they begin by emptying the room of everything and then just bring back what fits, what is needed. Knowing my pragmatic nature of less is more when it comes to work and house cleaning, I needed to trick myself into taking this first step. An object at rest should stay at rest if you ask me. Why move it if you're just going to bring it back in and put it in nearly the same place? The answer of course was right under my feet. Carpet. I needed to steam clean the carpet. To do that, aha! I was forced to remove everything from the room. I felt vindicated as I hefted chairs and coffee tables, piano and love seat, filing cabinets and book shelves.

There is something quite promising about an empty room. Hope perhaps of a new beginning? In the bedroom I took the opportunity to paint the walls as well as clean the carpet. What was once green is now blue. What was basic white undercoat, now a clean and comforting tan. If a person ever needs a new beginning, a get-out-of-jail free card, a freshly painted room shouts 'overs' and lets its occupant start anew.

Like the master of ceremonies of a HGTV program, I walked through the house and pulled from every room to decorate my bedroom. The overstuffed chair from the family room. The bookshelves from my office, the flower arrangement from the bathroom and the assorted books and nick knacks from the fireplace mantle. By the end of the day I had created a retreat. My little haven from the world soothed my frazzled nerves and invited me in to sit back in the overstuffed chair and put my feet on the matching stool.

While contemplating the day's work, my thoughts wondered to why people surround themselves with stuff. I came up to the conclusion that if a person lives in the moment, he needs no 'stuff.' If he lives in the past, he surrounds himself with history, either his own or the history that interests him. And if he lives for tomorrow, then he organizes 'things' so that he can find and use them in upcoming projects and events. And, if a person just exists, blown by the winds of chance and circumstances then he basically lives in chaos. Every inch of his environment filled with odds and ends, so overwhelmed that when he needs something, he cannot find it.

My brother told of a co-worker who dragged leftovers, cast offs and unused bits and pieces home from the electrical jobs they worked on. He stored them in a barn next to his house. I had the chance to see that barn. It was literally so full that to walk from one end to the other, we walked on boxes of items he'd collected. When he set to remodeling his home and needed the very things he'd dragged home -- he couldn't find them. Instead he went to the hardware or supply store and bought new. Eventually he or a member of his family brought a fork lift and other equipment and took all of his accumulation to the dump.

That's pretty much what I've been doing this week, taking out the trash. Maybe I subconsciously made a life choice -- I choose to live in the moment and prepare for tomorrow, organizing the things I need, the things I truly want, so that I can use and enjoy them.

The house is almost Zen-like in comparison to the clutter from before. I still hold on to just about every book, fabric, and family-related ephemera. But we have jettisoned old clothes, even those with memories of our youth. We finally donated that old computer, monitor, keyboard and mouse. Threw out papers, papers and more papers, a collection of plastic ware for which I can never find the right lid and lids for which I can never find the right container, assorted fast-food condiments, an unopened bag of flour that expired in 2006. Oh yes, and a pair of tennis shoes so old and worn that the rubber had crumbled.

Two rooms, well, one if you don't count the garage, still need to be sorted out. The garage and my 'craft' or as I currently refer to it as 'crap' room. The books I can't part with. I need to invest in shelves so I can organize and use them. The fabric -- I'm looking for a good home for several pieces. And the items saved when Mom gave up housekeeping -- those I still cling to. So, I admit, I am a person who lives in the past -- but I'm moving into the moment with my face turning toward the future.

My motto, taken from a book I found in my diggings is one simple Latin irregular verb: abicio. It means simply: to throw away. Interesting that this particular verb is second in an alphabetical listing under the heading "Principal Parts of Common Irregular Verbs beginning with the verb abdo, which means to put aside or hide. As I read down the list I see resolve grow with each word: abigo (drive away), abripio (tear away) and accendo (set on fire).

Perhaps those ancients, creators of the Latin language, suffered from the accumulation of 'stuff,' too, and it shows in their 'irregular' verbs. What is at the end of their list? Volo -- be willing, wish; volvo -- roll; and last of all voveo -- vow.

(Photo: Our cat, Mal, sitting in the 'crap' room. Yes, I still have a lot of work to do!)