I tend to grumble that G is a packrack and an accumulator of stuff, and I
am not. But that is not exactly true. Although I spent a large part
of the last weekend dealing with DH’s stuff, I also recently had to
come face to face with some of my own collecting propensities, and I
must admit that I am a collector of stuff, not the minimalist I like to
pretend to be.
Of course I still prefer to delude myself into thinking that the
"stuff" I accumulate is important whereas G’s "stuff" is just that —
stuff. But I am certain he feels the same way about my own piles.
To begin with, I spent the long weekend not sewing or working on
patterns but dealing doing battle with conflicting filing systems. All
the files from the office had been carted home in early April but
circumstances were such that I had not come to terms with them yet, or
integrated them into the existing files at home. That situation came
to a head last Thursday (see this post over at my other blog, purlsandmurmurs . Thursday I got stuff sorted into piles but those piles still had to be interfiled into the system we had at home
And this is were things got dicey. G and I might be adoring mates, but
our filing systems are completely incompatible. I am the kind of
person that breaks everything down into specific subjects and files it
meticulously, routinely going through the files and matching,
collating, and weeding the no longer needed or relevant. G saves
everything, every piece of paper, never goes back to weed anything out,
and has a system that is best described as "insurance in the left lower
drawer" and "bank statements in the right upper drawer"with the general
assumption being that the things on the top of the ever-growing pile
are the more recent. Something had to give, and the rule of the day was
that, since I do most of the filing, and G never remembers where
anything is anyway, my system won.
But that still meant I had to go through 30 years worth of comingled
insurance files to determine what was important, what we still had, and
what should have been long since relegated to the trash pile. 30 big
lawn and leaf bags full of paper, and four days later everything has
been accounted for and organized.
And I am sure that my organized file drawers could be further purged.
I tend to save and collect articles on many subjects and truthfully,
they are not at all frequently referenced. But they occupy space. I
am sure, if it came down to it, many travel files and design files and
files on various odd subjects could disappear without any great rift in
the universe, and some day that situation may arise. At the moment
though eliminating payment receipts for insurance policies that were
cancelled years ago will suffice.
But despite all this, and all my grumblings, G’s stuff only takes up a
little bit of the house (well most of the basement/garage, but I don’t
count that) whereas my stuff is everywhere.
And it is not just the yarn and fabric, which you know I collect but also books, and occasionally CDs. I can’t imagine a house without books.
In fact there are books in almost every room of my house and although I delude myself that I like minimalist architecture, it is not really true. I don’t like a lot of furniture, or photos, or things on tables or walls…. in that sense I am a minimalist. Some of my friends think my taste in furnishing is rather cold. And to some extent they may have a point. I could live in a library if I just moved in a fabulous kitchen and a bed, and the lack of other furnishings or the rows of books would not bother me — I would feel perfectly at home among them. I could make my bed in a yarn store or fabric store as well. But none of these places is what most people would call "homey".
Oh well.
The fact is, although I am currently sated on yarn and fabric, I will buy more. And although I am also overwhelmed with books, having piles scattered throughout the house waiting for more shelves, waiting to be read, I will also buy more books. Yarn, books, and fabric are each more than their physical presence. They all offer potential and dreams. I’ve talked alot about those dreams. And books also offer memories, memories of pages read. Oh I read books from the library….but I won’t say what percentage of books I read at the library eventually end up on my shelves anyway because I need to continue the conversation.
As I sit here writing this, surrounded by piles of yarn and fabric, and yes books, I feel very content, and very lucky to be able to collect these things I love and surround myself with them. And I can live with G’s piles of paper everywhere, and all the photo stuff in most of the guest bathroom, as he can live with piles of books and yarn and fabric. Although we occasionally grumble, it is an endearing kind of grumble, knowing full well that these piles are all only a little part of what endears us to each other and allows us the freedom and the peace for our more creative efforts.
