Clutter

I am a very fortunate person, and I tell myself that at least a dozen times a day, while continuing to slog through boxes. I have a nice (though odd) husband and two beautiful (though impossible) children. I live in a sweet little house -- that we OWN -- in Boulder, Colorado, where many people wish they could live.

A day or two after the movers dropped their load on us, there was a knock at the door and it was a Realtor, in shorts and sunglasses, wondering if we were moving in or out. "In," I said. "Oh, did you buy this place?" he asked. "No, we've always owned it, we were just in California for the last few years," I told him. "My husband's parents were the original owners. We also own that house," I added, pointing to Clifford's house, as if that would scare him away. Of course it did not. "If you ever think of selling, I've got people lining up to buy a house in this neighborhood," he said. I gave him a smile that was really a glare, and he waved and left.

So I'm really very lucky, as I keep telling myself. I have the husband, the kids, the house -- and the knickety-knacks.

We have too much stuff and we know it. Too much of every kind of stuff. And I've discovered that while certain stuff makes me very happy, other kinds plunge me into the darkest gloom.

What kind of stuff makes me happy? Books, mainly. Here's what my side of the bed looks like (or did until today, when I found another whole box of novels that had to be fit into these shelves):

I love being able to reach out from my bed and grab all these books. Nightstands, who needs nightstands? I keep my clock and water and whatnot on a shelf. Having lots and lots and lots of books makes me happy (though I wish we had room for a few more bookcases).

What kind of stuff doesn't make me happy? Kitchen stuff, including TOO MANY sets of dishes formerly owned by other people, and endless mismatched pieces of tupperware. Gadgets (electronic and other). End tables and other excess furniture. And knickety-knacks. Rocket Boy's mother was a big collector of curios, or knickety-knacks, as RB calls them. She had boxes and boxes of them, many of them still in their original boxes. RB says she used to rotate them, because she didn't have room to display them all at one time. He also says he has gotten rid of a lot of them through the years (she died in 1987). I don't believe it. We have hundreds of knickety-knacks, and I am not allowed to get rid of any of them. I think this is wrong. I think the LIVING should get to choose what items to keep, not the DEAD. But it's complicated.

Here's a cabinet of knickety-knacks. It is not full yet, or rather, it does not yet hold all the things it is supposed to hold, because at least one box hasn't appeared yet. (Oh, if only it never would!)

Actually, this is an equal-opportunity cabinet. Some of those knickety-knacks were wedding presents. Some actually belong to me. Some of them (shhh!) belonged to MY late mother, which of course is different from Rocket Boy's indiscriminate saving of everything his mother ever owned. Yeah, sure. Right.

So if we're being honest here, I must also confess that I have my own special knickety-knack collection: a set of demitasse cups and saucers.

Here they are, all seventeen of them. I love them. They're like doll dishes. About half were given to me at a going-away party that one of my professors threw for me when I left Michigan. It was an unusual sort of party. In the years before I left, I had helped throw many wedding showers and baby showers, as well as post-dissertation-defense celebrations for friends who had secured academic positions. My professor, I think, felt sorry for me (because I was not entitled to any of these festivities -- I did get the degree, but not the job, and in fact was leaving academia altogether), and wanted me to have what my friends had had, so she threw me a sort of farewell shower, complete with a pile of wrapped presents -- most of which turned out to be demitasse cups and saucers. She herself had such a collection, and I had admired it many times. It was a wonderful party, including friends who'd come from out of town, and everyone telling me how much they'd enjoyed knowing me. When I look at my demitasse cups and saucers, I remember the party and how good it made me feel.

And of course, within a few years of leaving Michigan I had a wedding shower and baby shower of my own, plus a job that I enjoyed, so really, there was no need for my professor to do all that for me. Still, it was really nice of her.

My demitasse cups and saucers have been packed away for a while, but now they are out again, because they have a little home in this house, that Rocket Boy made for them. Here they are on their little shelves:

The shelves only hold 16, so one set has to go on the shelf below, and actually I think there are one or two that aren't unpacked yet, so I'll have to make room for a couple more. This is why I don't buy myself a new demitasse set every time I walk into an antique store -- I want to continue to have room for them.

When I die, I hope my sons don't save my demitasse collection and drive their spouses crazy by insisting on displaying it in their homes. These are MY knickety-knacks. They make ME happy. Only me. There's no need for them to live on after I'm gone.

I am a very fortunate person. I have a dear husband, beloved children, a nice little house, and hundreds of knickety-knacks. Many of which are still in boxes. Only about 100 left to open.