Sunday, December 21, 2003
Enough Stuff
To make room for Christmas, it's already been necessary to clean and throw out stuff. The pile of videos on the book shelf had to be moved for the Italian creche. That meant cleaning out a drawer with extension cords and takeout menus, so the Wiggle videos had a home. The large tree posed a bigger problem. Jonah's bike which has been a permanent part of the livingroom decor since his birthday in June still has to be hung from hooks from the kitchen ceiling. Two baskets of toys and books need a home, but I don't know where yet. Am I allowed to toss them out the window?
And the box from Cleveland has arrived. It is large and heavy. Our little apartment can handle only so much. Where will I put all this crap? I actually hyperventilate a bit before Christmas and birthdays worrying about where things will go.
We have just too much stuff. All mass produced by child labor in China and Thailand. I could fill a room with cheap KB toys for $100. All given by sweet, loving family and friends with too much disposable income on their hands.
My family asked, "What do you want for Christmas?" Um, nothing. Oh, what an ungrateful child. You want something, don't you. If you don't tell me, I'll just go out and buy you a tent and four sleeping bags. Um, I want nothing. I want a minimal space with no clutter. Nothing underfoot at the end of the night. Nothing to use once and forget. Nothing to dust. Nothing to find a place for. Nothing too costly to give away.
My brother, sister, and cousins have sworn off gifts this Christmas. Instead, the six of us (plus 5 spouses) are dumping the kids and having dinner together in the city on the 26th. Conversation without interruption and a fine meal of grilled salmon is all I need. It means more to me than another set of bowls or smelly soaps or a shiny picture frame.
I foresee more trips to Good Will in the next couple of weeks. It's all about a conservation of mass. For every new thing that enters the apartment, one thing of equal or greater mass must leave the apartment.
To make room for Christmas, it's already been necessary to clean and throw out stuff. The pile of videos on the book shelf had to be moved for the Italian creche. That meant cleaning out a drawer with extension cords and takeout menus, so the Wiggle videos had a home. The large tree posed a bigger problem. Jonah's bike which has been a permanent part of the livingroom decor since his birthday in June still has to be hung from hooks from the kitchen ceiling. Two baskets of toys and books need a home, but I don't know where yet. Am I allowed to toss them out the window?
And the box from Cleveland has arrived. It is large and heavy. Our little apartment can handle only so much. Where will I put all this crap? I actually hyperventilate a bit before Christmas and birthdays worrying about where things will go.
We have just too much stuff. All mass produced by child labor in China and Thailand. I could fill a room with cheap KB toys for $100. All given by sweet, loving family and friends with too much disposable income on their hands.
My family asked, "What do you want for Christmas?" Um, nothing. Oh, what an ungrateful child. You want something, don't you. If you don't tell me, I'll just go out and buy you a tent and four sleeping bags. Um, I want nothing. I want a minimal space with no clutter. Nothing underfoot at the end of the night. Nothing to use once and forget. Nothing to dust. Nothing to find a place for. Nothing too costly to give away.
My brother, sister, and cousins have sworn off gifts this Christmas. Instead, the six of us (plus 5 spouses) are dumping the kids and having dinner together in the city on the 26th. Conversation without interruption and a fine meal of grilled salmon is all I need. It means more to me than another set of bowls or smelly soaps or a shiny picture frame.
I foresee more trips to Good Will in the next couple of weeks. It's all about a conservation of mass. For every new thing that enters the apartment, one thing of equal or greater mass must leave the apartment.
