A single placemat

The other night, I saw one of those house-selling shows. This one was about an 84-year old couple who wanted to be done with the upkeep of a house, and they were going to move into an assisted living facility. The couple’s idea was to move while they could still make the decision to move and not leave the decision for someone else down the road. They had raised their children in this house, lived there most of their married life.

You can imagine how much this couple had accumulated in 55 or so years. They had a whole garage and a whole basement full of stuff besides all the treasures they lived with in every room of their house.

You know I have been a master clutterer, but this couple may well have outdone me.

In the particular scene that I want to tell you about, the wife was sitting at a table covered with things she was going through, and it became overwhelming to her. She had gone past her limit. She was shaky, and it looked like she might fall apart. I am not talking about just tears, more like collapsing.

She held a place mat in her shaking hands. It looked like an ordinary placemat. Nothing special at all. And as far as I could tell, she had only one place mat like it. It wasn’t even part of a pair.

The couple’s real estate agent had been digging in and helping the homeowners sort and discard. I don’t know whether the agent or the wife’s husband was sitting next to her, but she turned to whoever it was and looked up and said weakly: “I don’t think I can make a decision about this today. I will have to wait until tomorrow.” There she was holding the placemat in her two hands.

On the surface, what could there be about a placement to have a nervous breakdown about, yet this placemat was important to her — who knew what memories it held. The placemat was like the straw that would break her heart. Oh, how I could relate.

This lady was making all her decisions in a matter of days. I have been spending months and months and still more to go.

I know it’s silly, but how can I part with what is hard for me to part with?

Part of me could have someone come in and take everything away, and I wouldn’t care one bit. Part of me could walk off and just leave everything behind. Really, I have always admired the American Indian women who wrapped their entire belongings in a blanket and moved on. I have envied them.

Nevertheless, there is still a part of me, if I must handle the possessions and make decisions about each one, I still go through all the emotions of How can I part with this. You would think that things matter. A wooden bowl. A little bag of marbles. A few pebbles I picked off the ground. A letter of recommendation from thirty years ago that I will never have occasion to use anyway.

I have parted with a lot of things, and once parted with, the things don’t mean what they used to. Who needed those mementos anyway. But in the process of parting, the parting isn’t always easy. What is it really that treasured possessions possess? In my case, I guess they own me until I do part with them.

What do these bits and pieces amount to anyway, and where do they exist really. What are THEY?

Posted by Gloria on August 29th, 2009 under these topics
Decluttering, Godwriting Journal

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6 Replies

Reply from Carol Maurer on August 29, 2009

I once heard an expression that has stuck with me: “Everything you own has a mouth that must be fed.” Sometimes my possessions make me feel like a mama bird — all the little baby birds in the nest with their starving little mouths open, demanding, demanding . . . and I just want to start tossing “perfectly good” things into the trash. Instead I pile and pile and pile them up for a trip to the thrift shop to donate, in hopes someone can use some of it and I can avoid creating more piles of landfill. And now that I’ve been reminded of the pile in the garage, I guess I’ll go deal with it. It always makes me feel better when I clear stuff out, even though I know it’s busy breeding on its own and there doesn’t seem to be a spay and neuter clinic for “stuff.”

Reply from One on August 29, 2009

Maybe the real questions are, “Who am I?” and “Where do I exist?”. Atachment to stuff comes from mis-identity. Like who really picked up those pebbles and whose stuff is that anyway?

Reply from Gloria on August 29, 2009

Not mine, Senor!

Ah, yes, Carol, the baby birds!

Reply from Jack van Raders on August 29, 2009

Yes Gloria I know That is way it takes so long cleaning out my Garage. “It might come in Handy one day” You must know that expression. No it can go now I hung on to that long enough. Gone to the tip and the next day I need it. I have bought things new and I look for something else and find the thing I bought yesterday. So Now I am Tough and start throwing out and rebuilding my work area so I can make things that I could not due to lack of space. so again send me strength Love you ALL Jack

Reply from Gloria on August 30, 2009

Beloved Jack, you are right on the nail! I like the way you are reorganizing your garage. When it comes to moving things out, we have to be TOUGH. Of course, the things don’t care where they are. We don’t hurt their feelings.

Reorganizing is really putting things in their place — our relationship with things which are meant to be tools.

Loving you, Gloria

Reply from Lynda Hallett on August 30, 2009

For me, it has always been the emotion or feeling that is “attached” to the object. I can sit for hours going through things, it takes hours because I stop with so many items and go back to when it had meaning. It is almost a cleansing in a sense. You re-experience that moment in time, which of course brings it to the present. Who knows what was happening in that lady’s life, or who gave her the placemat, to cause such a reaction.
With my recent move, I made the decision to REALLY do some purging. And this time, heal the wounds or feelings that I had been carrying with that object. I would now let many things go, and create room for new things to come in. That includes love,joy, abundance of many things and interesting people. Goodwill Stores here were recipients of almost a house full!

The most difficult, were so many pictures of my chocolate labrador Sam. He was my life fo so many years. He has been gone since 1992, and still it is like yesterday.The unconditional love I experienced with him, cannot be put into words.
I have kept the pictures with the most meaning for me.

On another note, when I was taking Reiki 11, somehow a discussion had come up about moving on and finding someone to share a relationship with. One of the single ladies there, has been wanting to share her life with someone. So she has made room in her closet for “his clothes” whenever that should happen. My response was, well, I must go home and give more away then, because if and when I do meet someone, that could be a problem!
Unless he travels with only a backpack.

This discussion has really made me think. How often I’ll see something that I “feel” I “need” when in fact, I don’t. And it is really to fill that space or vacuum, that has been left. ONE certainly has said it (again). Mis-identity. Yes. Because it becomes about what we think something, or someone (in my case) will make us feel. Or the feeling we get from it (them).
ONE is so right! If we are just true to ourselves, and be and feel and express that, what more do we need?

Now, this has certainly been cathartic for me. Even if that isn’t quite what ONE meant!

In love & light,
Lynda

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