We’ve been sorting and clearing for a few years. It’s gone well so far. The attics are empty. Most of my books are prioritized and the most precious of mine have moved East. We’ve talked a lot about the art and furniture that is important to us both. Gary even completely cleared his corner of the living room!

I read an article this morning at Apartment Therapy about signs you have too much stuff. I thought the list was wanting:

• You find things from elsewhere in the house in rooms that don’t make sense.
• You constantly have paper clutter strewn on your kitchen counters or table.
• You find yourself avoiding tasks because you don’t want to have to gather what you need to get them done.
• Your clothes are always wrinkled.
• You have to play Tetris to get things out and put them away.

Misplacing items might mean you have too much, but you found those things! Come back to me when you have searched for three days and your husband has searched and you know it’s someplace…

Paper clutter is just mess and not the same thing as “too much.” On the other hand, allowing paper clutter to accumulate likely springs from the same impulse that allows you to have too much of everything else.

Avoiding tasks might be true if the challenge is finding what you need.

Wrinkled clothing? It means something but that does not necessarily have anything to do with how much stuff you have. You might be messy or wearing a lot of linen. Both.

Playing Tetris to put things away—you’re putting things away? You’re not really bad until you just can’t put things away anymore. [Worst of all, if you have empty shelves or drawers and you still leave stuff all over counters and tabletops.]

My own list would be different:

• You avoid tasks because you can’t find what you need to get them done. “It’s here someplace, but where?”
• You have things you don’t remember where they came from or why you kept them. “What is this?”
• You just bought something you needed and then discovered you already bought it a while back. “Shoot, I forgot I had this already!”
• You need a storage unit to hold all your stuff, no, scratch that. You have a storage unit. Or two. Or your mother’s attic…
• Every time you open a drawer or go through a closet or look under the bed, it’s like, “Wow! I forgot all about that.” [Unless it’s another, “What is that?”]

There is way too much stuff in our house. Agates on the dining table that seats eight, ten in a pinch, but clear for the two spots we need when we eat. Only one of the two coffee tables accumulates clutter. The other accumulates agates. [Periodically, I sweep the lot into a basket and take them to the yard.] Now that we have only ourselves to care for, our home is relatively tidy. The challenge is our goal of downsizing from a four-bedroom, two bath home with attics to less than 600 square feet.

Wall space for the art alone is daunting. I have been collecting things I don’t need since I was a girl. It was mostly Japanese items for a dollhouse and display in grade school, books in junior high, beaded purses and other vintage/antiques in high school. In college it was Parrish prints and books. All along ceramic things (I was a a Ceramic Art major, after all) and later jewelry (Metal Design degree too). When I began weaving and knitting and quilting in my twenties, my stashes of fabric and yarn began building. And always and forever it is books. [I don’t entirely trust a household not overrun by books.]

My great Aunt Vera’s suitcase has most of the beaded bags, the Japanese items are scattered everywhere, and the Parrish prints on our bedroom walls mean a lot to Gary and me because they are from our youth. There are too many books, but I am making excellent progress with them. In this, I am ahead of Gary who admits he is stalling about his books. I began selling my jewelry to cover expenses in Portland, but I still have two Mallary Marks “Circus” necklaces that my grandchildren will never want and I should sell. The stashes of fabric and yarn need to be whittled down. The loom should go to its new home. The sewing machine too.

My books and clothing are mostly sorted, but more clothing will have to go to entirely fit in my tiny Portland closet. I scrubbed the floor when I did the last clothing sort at the coast. [see below]

There is still a lot to pack and move and discard. We will have a garage sale this summer. Maybe we’ll hire a firm to take a lot of furniture and collectibles away. We recently tried selling a bag of books to Powells’ Book Store where we have both purchased and sold so many books, but they didn’t offer enough to make that worthwhile. We’ll likely give books away.

Please, anyone paying attention, follow Emerson’s advice about gifting: Flowers and fruit. In his essay with that name, Emerson states that the “necessity for the recipient” is a good parameter to analyze while choosing a gift. Shoes for the shoeless. Perhaps money from those desperate for funds. “The only gift is a portion of thyself.” Give only consumables and nothing that conveys an obligation to care for or keep.

“Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.”

―William Morris

I am working to let go.

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COVID UPDATE

We masked everywhere in public for nearly three and a half years. Friends have been sick. Some have had Covid twice or even three times. Late last summer we began to go out unmasked.

Gary tested positive first last week. I tested positive the next day, a weak but clear line I hoped never to see. No fever that first morning and then there was and I was pushing toward 101° which is very hot for me. [In my life I’ve only had a fever that high with pneumonia and appendicitis.] My head hurt so bad I thought I might actually die. Aspirin did not touch it. We did not take Paxlovid because there are issues with kidneys and neither of us have had a blood panel that checks kidney function in at least five years. We would have had to drive to Seaside for the tests and pay for them. [A neighbor volunteered to make the second drive to pick up the meds if we did.] Gary looked up the side effects and decided it was just as well I didn’t take it. My headache relented a bit. We napped a lot. I managed to reread two of Alice Munro’s short stories. I napped. I watched a bit of television. I napped. Baked bread and napped. Yesterday, I worked on my loom for a time. I napped.

Sunday, February 11, I had my scheduled run. As of today, I have not been outdoors in over a week. Gary gave me a new SmartWool running top that I won’t likely try on till March. I have not had “a cough” though I experienced a brief period of productive coughing yesterday. My nose is no longer dripping. No sore throat at any time. We did not lose our sense of taste or smell. I have little appetite but a good habit of eating healthy and a well-stocked freezer. [Thank you, Mary Jo, for the soup!]

My headache is a fading memory, and I have not had a fever or needed aspirin in well over 24 hours. It’s probable that I will no longer be contagious by Thursday. All good.

We are careful not to overdo. We’ve been warned and heard too many stories of relapse.

This Thursday, we planned to be in Portland for an inspection prior to the building-wide repipe coming to our unit. Gary has called to let the site manager know that we might not make it. We will not take the Parrish prints with us this trip. Rain. One light load and nap, we think. We will check the weather and how we feel. We will make our decision based on what we know. And we will mask.

For anyone who is unsure what I meant about men telling me what I am trying to say and then telling me I am wrong? Start with a reprint of Solnit’s “Men Explain Things to Me.”