Author / clumpaday

by clumpaday

Unlikely Box of Seeds

Clump #72: Clear out wire box of stashed clutter in bedroom.

Oh boy, have I been dreading this box, or cage, containing a mess. Here’s a good tip: don’t buy organizational equipment before you purge, recycle, shred, and — finally — see what you really need/want to keep. The temptation is to buy spiffy organizational tools and feel like you’re addressing the problem.  In this case, getting a cool box just made things worse; it turned into a procrastination bin with a long shadow of guilt.

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For anyone familiar with me and this site, you know I have a propensity for stashing away inspirational quotes. Though mostly filled with shreddable and fileable stuff, this box didn’t disappoint.

Below are two quotes that were stuck in a notebook from the box.  A three year old calendar page with the beautiful message from The Buddha, and another passage I wrote down on a receipt (maybe in a waiting room of some sort, who knows where or when?) by Sister Wendy Beckett.

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The one from Sister Wendy shocked me, because just a couple of days ago I brought the book, Sister Wendy’s 1000 Masterpieces, up from our basement.  I was looking for a big, impressive book to slip some papers in to help with a neighbor’s Halloween party scavenger hunt-type game.  Kids would come ringing the doorbell, with one in the group suffering from a comical malady, and I would read an incantation for the cure.

The book fit the bill, and I’ve had it upstairs since with the intention to read through it.  My sister gave the book to our mother, and then generously allowed me to have it when we were going through parental stuff. Amazing.

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Here is what I wrote down in my messy handwriting:

“Again and again I’ve taken quick glances and then for some reason … it’s opened up like one of those Japanese flowers that you put into water and something I thought wasn’t worth more than a casual, respectful glance begins to open up depth after depth of meaning.”   Sister Wendy Beckett

Lately I’ve been pretty drunk with the capturing of brilliant fall colors like this:

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Soon after I took that photo, I glanced down at the ground, took this one, and as Sister Wendy so perfectly described, it opened up “depth after depth of meaning.”  Something about the label of weed; the delicate down, like a gorgeous ballet costume from the Nutcracker; and the indefatigable imperative to set seed, even in the face of frost and suburban herbicides.

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This quote from a Dove chocolate, wedged in the box, wrapped things up:

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“Blessings only come to those who notice.”   –Jean, Houston, TX

by clumpaday

Blossoms and Bantams

Clump #71:  Bring left-behind belongings to younger daughter and clear out shoebox.

I had the delightful job of bringing a clump of things to my college student daughter and taking her out to lunch today. The restaurant was decorated with beautiful, energizing paintings of flowers.  I loved this fall display with the pumpkin-like urn on the floor.

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Even more lovely was a short reprieve from the recent sensation of chicks leaving the nest.  Heaven.

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But then it was back home to make another little dent in the shoe-pile remains: a shoebox that somehow became the repository of a strange assortment of objects.  More flowers: these were from a past theater experience involving our older daughter. They will adorn the next Goodwill donation pile.

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This chicken was hand-knit by the dear second wife of my husband’s father.  It sits on a green plastic egg. Must keep.  I put it away with other Easter stuff, to be enjoyed for years to come.

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I can recycle the box and my identification number from when I was on the show Let’s Make A Deal (a blast, even though I didn’t get picked to play).  We’ll hang my husband’s academic cords on his side of the closet, where he had thought they still resided.  He worked very hard for them.

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Just yesterday I had stopped to take a picture of a sign I enjoy seeing on my way to and from visiting my mom in Lancaster County, PA.  I know I’m in farm country when the roadside advertisement is for Bantams.

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I wanted to make sure I knew exactly what Bantams are, so I googled a definition: “Called the flower garden of the poultry world, Bantams are miniature chickens, usually one-fourth to one-fifth the size of standard varieties.”  Once again, flowers and chickens.

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by clumpaday

Droppings

Clump #70:  Clear out bag of trash from former shoe pile.

This site has, up until now, been free of coarse language.  I’m sorry to offend any delicate readers with the following paragraph.

My daughter has a good friend from high school whose mother used to call the store, “Linens ‘n Things,” “Sheets ‘n Shit.”  (A factor in the chain’s demise?)  Sometimes the coarsest word is the most descriptive, so I’ve been thinking of the pile I’ve been dismantling lately as “Shoes ‘n Shit.”   And here’s another pile of it.

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This project has made me think about how the influx and outgo of stuff in a house is like food in a body.  And also like the cycles of nature in the world.

My mother and I sit outside and watch the changes in season with these two maple trees above us.  We have been charting their progress and find it fascinating that the tree on the right was all leafed-out in the Spring, while the one on the left was barely budding.  But now the left one seems to be winning the race.

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And here’s another way of looking at “winning” as it relates to autumn.

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In my experience, the blazing colors right now are more riotous than mute.

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And decay is part of that big, wondrous circle of life.

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(Above photo taken at the 2013 Philadelphia Flower Show.)

by clumpaday

Worst and Best Things

Clump #69: Unclog bathroom shower drain.

Short and the opposite of sweet: first thing this morning, I finally unclogged the shower drain. Yucko.  I won’t go into disgusting detail or show graphically gross photo documentation of the contents of the bag, below.  You’re welcome.

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Mind-cleansing images … please!   A fine drizzle was coming down most of the day today, same as it was the day I picked up my younger daughter for her fall break over a week ago.  She wasn’t quite ready to go when I arrived, so I told her I would take some pictures of the yellow roses against the dark grey slate of her dormitory.

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With my rain coat hood up and creeping around a college dormitory, I was very aware of looking like a suspicious character … but was counting on my middle-aged, mom-type aura to redeem me.   As I took the pictures, I was hearing Julie Andrews singing “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens …” from the song My Favorite Things, and the movie, The Sound of Music.

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I’d like to add another line to the song:  “Blue light through bottles and speckles on pumpkins …”

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I hope you are surrounded by a few of your favorite things today.

by clumpaday

Kinky Boots

Clump #68: Start blasting through shoe snarl in bedroom.

I’m ashamed to admit that, until yesterday, I still hadn’t confronted the horrible accumulation of old, nasty junk in our bedroom, after having vowed to do so in a (much) earlier post.  But this blog is not about perfection. Otherwise, I would not still be clumping and writing.  Slip-ups are inevitable.  Sometimes the clutter-accumulation phenomenon defies all logic.  Getting back on track without too much judgement or self-recrimination is what I’m focused on, because it keeps the job going.

I saw this plaque at a friend’s house.  I could amend it by saying: Never Let Yesterday Fill Up Today.

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And here they are: soles of beloved souls from many yesterdays:

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One somewhat logical reason to put off going through all this stuff is that most of the shoes and boots belong to my daughters.  We’ve talked about “doing the shoes” many times, even possibly from a distance on Skype. But it finally came to pass on the very rare and precious day when they were both home together.

We discovered that the only item belonging to my younger daughter were these rainbow boots.  She put them in her closet.  What a novel idea!

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My older daughter will keep these funky boots we found at the Goodwill long ago when searching for costume material for a summer theater production of Sweet Charity.  They lived on for Halloween and other funky occasions, and might still be treasured for more.

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Goodbye to Senior Prom shoes.  (Sob)

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Keep:

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Give away:

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I’m hoping someone else will find the Goodwill a sweet charity for their fancy footwear.

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by clumpaday

Departure and Arrival Time

Clump #67:  Take down bus card.

This is one of the smallest clumps to be documented.  But its significance is weighty.  My younger daughter has been away at college for over a year.  I should be well adjusted to the status of empty-nester. But I never quite got around to taking down her last bus card from the refrigerator, reminding me of pick-up and drop off times, her high school senior year home room teacher and room number.  My days are no longer structured within the confines of the comings and goings of yellow buses.  I see them driving around and am reminded that I’m not part of that world any longer … for better and for worse, happier and sadder.

Our refrigerator is relatively uncluttered, so this remnant from days past is not annoying or hurting anyone. It does, however, betray that I’m not fully living in the present.  Time to rip off the bandaid and embrace the now.

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I have spent the last couple of days helping with clumps of other people’s things, sorting out the toy room for our Quaker Meeting’s Fall Festival.  Before:

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And After:

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After so much contact with kids’ toys, that empty-nest thing is feeling pretty good!

by clumpaday

To Do and Don’t List

Clump #65:  Take back shirt and call OPT OUT.

This box is a physical to-do list filled with action-needy things I came across in clearing out the den (formerly the den of doom and gloom).  It would have stopped my momentum to address each of them at the time, so … into the box they went with an “I’ll clump you later.”

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I groaned as I pulled out a bag containing a white golf shirt I’d bought for my husband and needed to return.  I did have the receipt, but here’s what I found when I looked at it:

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Even through the fog of the picture, you can see that if I had found this on the day I started my September challenge, I would have been able to return it in time.  D’oh!  But return it, I did.  To my surprise and delight, the woman at the exchange counter fiddled around for a minute with her register and said, “I can still give you the refund.”  I have nothing to do with SteinMart, but I’ll plug them here for that favor.  Wow, indeed.IMG_2054

I ended up buying my husband another shirt, so it worked out well for all parties involved.  The clerk, another female customer and I had a discussion about whether our respective husbands would wear the color I picked out. The older woman said hers would never wear it, but she wished he would ; the clerk said she forced hers to wear it (along with lavender); I said I’d see what my husband thought and that I might be back to the exchange counter again.

For the record, my husband wore it and looks mahvelous in it.  It’s actually a bit brighter than the picture shows.  Let it be known that my husband is not afraid of wearing edgy golf shirts!

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In the midst of all the paper purging, I, fortuitously, came across a little article in The Philadelphia Inquirer entitled Protect yourself from identity theft.  One of the tips offered to fight this scourge is to call 1-888-5-OPTOUT (1-888-57-8688) to opt out of pre-approved credit cards, “The easiest way for a fraudster to commit identity theft is to fill out pre-approved credit applications we receive in the mail.”  Boy, did I shred a load of those.

I called the number to opt myself out.  The irony is, you have to give your social security number to them in order to do it.  One of the other rules listed in the article: “Shield your Social Security card and numbers.”  I googled around for other people’s experiences, and apparently the number is legit.

Feeling the need to close with a little beauty of the season I recently captured: flowers dying and valiantly still blooming …

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In colors both reserved and flamboyant.

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by clumpaday

Wedding Preparations

Clump #64: Iron wedding costumes for Fall Festival.

Oh yes, it’s that time of year again.  Even though the weather has been a bit of Endless Summer lately, I have to face facts.  Time to get ready for the Fall Festival at our Quaker Meeting …

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Which is like a mini-rehearsal for Christmas in that: it’s the same day/time of the year every year (no surprises there); I tend to (trying not to use the word always) put everything off until the last minute; and I end up tired and frazzled by the time the big day arrives.

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I was having a conversation last year on the day of the festival with a couple of friends, along the lines of, “Next year I will do better!”  In a having-been-put-through-a meat-grinder-feeling haze, I said, “What if I try to make the whole experience easy for myself, first and foremost?” One very wise friend retorted (sarcastically) “Then no one would love you!”  Ha!  Where would the badge of courage be?  The martyr to the cause?  I’ve been thinking about that ever since.  I’m sure it’s a malady especially common to women.  (I just noticed the word malady has the word lady in it!)

So here is my first stab at making festival prep easier for myself (sorry for the fuzzy photo):

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Every year I have costumes to iron for a reenactment of the first wedding held in our meeting house over 200 years ago.  People often wonder how Quakers get married, without priests, ministers, or rabbis. In the same way Quakers believe everyone has a direct connection to God, the wedding couple believe they are married by God.

Within a silent worship, the bride and groom take turns saying aloud, “In the presence of God and before these our family and friends, I take thee (bride/groom’s name) to be my wife/husband, promising with Divine assistance to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband/wife so long as we both shall live.”

My younger daughter is pitching in to play a young man in the wedding party (not enough male volunteers).  I could make a joke here having to do with trans-vest-ite, but that would be highly improper.

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Every year I procrastinate the ironing of the costumes until, often, the morning of the festival.  Today, roughly a week early, I ironed them at a leisurely pace!   Incredible.  I always forget how time-consuming the fabrics are to de-wrinkle.  And look what I found, the fastener of the knickers was missing a safety pin.  It’s something I’d likely overlook in my usual rush … a tiny, crazy-making detail.

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I was able to remember to pack bags of safety pins and bobby pins (can never have too many of these), and stockings in my wear-them-to-the-wedding shoes.  How old are these shoes?  Really, don’t ask.

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This seems like a small, ordinary thing, the accomplishment of a task early and with so much foresight.  But in my world, it’s big enough to make me very, very happy.

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by clumpaday

Let Me Get This Off My Chest

Clump #63: Clear papers and books from family room chest.

Below is the chest I had in mind (or what’s underneath): the repository of previous paper purging projects.  (Alliteration!)  Aack!!  So many homeless items in need of decisions.

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Getting rid of our excess paper, for me, is like the children’s story, The Cat In The Hat Comes Back, by Dr. Seuss.  What can go wrong with such a friendly-looking fellow?  (The Cat representing paper in this analogy.)  Come on into the house!

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For those who don’t remember, the good, hard-working brother and sister of the story are left alone, shoveling snow.  Trouble starts when The Cat takes a bath while eating cake.  Ah, that pretty, benign-looking pink frosting leaves a pink ring around the tub.  No problem, The Cat assures the worried children, he can easily get it off.

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“Do you know how he did it? / WITH MOTHER’S WHITE DRESS! /Now the tub was all clean, /But her dress was a mess!”
Out, out, damn spot!  Oops, that’s a different story.  Since I was a kid, I’ve never lost the “Mother-will-come-home-and-we’ll-be-in trouble” anxiety this tale so effectively creates.

The persistent pink stain went from the tub to the dress, to the wall, to Dad’s shoes, to the carpet, the bed, ….

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Well, I won’t spoil the ending.  My point is that the eradication of long-neglected papers feels as dispiriting and futile as The Cat’s stubborn pink spot removal.  From the study, to the floor, to the chest … each time getting smaller and smaller, but still there.

My very own, personal, paper trail of white.  Will it ever be permanently put out of sight??

And — ah, I can breath again — the after photo.  Mothers and others may now enter our home.

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When (not if) I get down to the end of the papers, I will have to have cake in the tub, with pink icing, to celebrate!