There’s dust on the fan blade. I notice it this morning as I open my eyes. Usually, the fan blade is turning slowly above the bed, gently circulating the air in our bedroom, but this morning, it is motionless, and I see the dust draped lightly along the edges like icing on a cake.
Sighing, I roll out of bed. I know what I will be doing today. Dusting and sweeping and vacuuming. This is exactly why I don’t like housework. Once I get started, there’s something else right beside it that needs my attention. Before I know it, I will have spent the entire day scrubbing, dusting, washing, and re-organizing things, and have nothing but a temporarily clean house to show for it.
Max and Misty greet me in the living room, and I pet them as I pass them. I brew a cup of tea, noticing the burner liners on the stove need a good scouring. I let the dogs out, and brush my teeth. A glance tells me that the bathroom needs cleaning, too. Does it ever end? I get dressed, and check my email. When I get to the kitchen, I feel a gnawing in my stomach reminding me it is lunch time and I haven’t even had breakfast yet, so I boil water to make some Ramen noodles. After lunch, I let the dogs out again, and think about the work that’s waiting for me. As I walk past the bookcase, I notice a stack of birthday cards, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, and Anniversary cards that have piled up on one of the shelves where they have been displayed since they were sent or given to us. Before I drop them into the desk drawer in the spare bedroom, I write the year on the back of each card, then bind them together in a big rubber band. At a time in the future, when I will clean out the drawer, usually in December, I will put all the cards and letters I received for the year into a special box in the attic.
Before leaving the spare room, the computer reminds me that there are three music CD’s I’d like to copy onto my music program, and I sit down to do that. It’s nearly two o’clock, and I haven’t even started on the housework. Every room I walk into holds something that catches my attention, and I do whatever it is that needs doing. The mailman delivers a package. I scour the four stove burner liners until they shine like new, then I clean the toilet bowl and sink in the bathroom. I put some clothes away, pick up shoes in one room and place them in another, collect 4 issues of National Geographic from the bathroom and set them in another room where I stack things that need to go downstairs. I will go downstairs when I have an armload to carry.
Could I be a borderline hoarder? I saw a woman featured on Oprah this week. She had been diagnosed with hoarding. I had never heard this word applied to an illness or disease of the mind before, but it seems to have some psychological roots. A hoarder keeps everything over the years and her living spaces become crammed with all the things she’s collected, interfering with her daily life. Some hoarders can’t even throw away their trash. The woman on Oprah could not clean up her dog’s feces and as the cameraman walked through her home, dog poop could be seen everywhere, even in the shower stall. There was left-over food in every room, remnants of past meals molding on the kitchen counter, and her refrigerator was a hazard zone. No, I’m not a hoarder. Not even close. I do collect things, but animal poop isn’t one of them.
I find it difficult to throw things away that still have use in them, so I give them away or donate them to charity when I don‘t need them any more. I am a teacher. When I find things outside in nature that can be used to teach a lesson, I save it for that purpose. Shells, rocks, leaves, bugs, flowers, seeds, frogs and tadpoles, and skinks are all potential lesson starters. I buy and store paper and pencils, pens, markers, crayons, folders, notebooks, and dividers because I know they will be needed in the classroom. My husband tolerates this hoarding instinct of mine and has built shelves to accommodate my various storage needs. He understands the collecting and storing mechanism. A few years ago, he built a workshop which doubles as a storage shed in the backyard. A man in his fifties accumulates a lot of things in his lifetime… the lawn mower, tools, building materials, old lawn mower parts, other yard equipment, car cleaning supplies, not to mention the stuff our son left behind when he went to college eight years ago. My husband doesn’t like that he has collected all this stuff over the years, and he makes an honest effort each year to downsize. We both agree we should get rid of as much of the stuff as we can while we are healthy enough to do it ourselves.
I collect and store things, but I don’t like clutter. I don’t like knick-knacks and little dust collectors sitting on shelves, although I do have a small fish collection that collects dust. I really like having the fish out where I can see them on a book shelf. The fish, made of wood, soapstone, clay, porcelain, and brass, remind me of my faith, of stories in the Bible, of being fed, and of the apostles. I’ll bring them in for a Sunday School lesson every now and then. My other weakness is books. Every room in my house is a haven for books. Books are easier to dust than knick-knacks, books can be read over and again, and loaned out to one‘s friends. I’d rather go to the bookstore to buy a book than to the library to borrow one because once I read the book, I like to keep the book.
There’s a little hoarding instinct in all of us, I think, but most of us keep it under control. When it looks like we don’t have enough room to keep things, we know it’s time to re-evaluate what is important to us. That’s when we look at a thing and ask ourselves, “Have I used this in the last five years?” If not, it’s gone. It seems logical that if something has not been used during the last five years, it will likely not be needed during the next five. Good rule of thumb for those who haven’t figured it out yet.
No, I’m not a hoarder in the true sense of the word. I know this because in between writing this entry and eating dinner, I got my house cleaned!
No comments:
Post a Comment