Scrounging Through Fourteen Years of Stuff

This is it. I've decided to bite the proverbial bullet. We moved into our house in 1994 and I was absolutely thrilled at the wonderful amount of storage it had. We owned nowhere near enough stuff to fill all those shelves, not to mention the big ol' closet under the stairs.

In the ensuing years, however, our stuff has been quietly multiplying under cover of darkness (I deny having had anything to do with it whatsoever!) and is threatening to take over the whole house. It's like something alive, silently filling every shelf and closet, spilling over onto every horizontal surface. And there it sits, looking crosseyed at me and sticking its tongue out.

Studies have proven that clutter has a deleterious effect on mental health and I know for a fact it depresses me. The problem has been the task is so large I didn't know where to start so I'd decide to wait until tomorrow to begin. Well, today is tomorrow! I have been sorting, tossing, lugging, organizing, you name it. When I got all my photos together that have been taken since our wedding in 1975 I realized the few scrapbooks I've done are just the beginning. I have a project ready for a long cold winter, now that everything's in the same place.

I put all my sewing stuff in one place instead of having bits of it here and parts of it there. Since I haven't been in a sewing mood for a while I put the machines and everything in the newly organized closet under the stairs where it will wait happily for the sewing bug to bite me again. All my quilting paraphernalia is tucked away with the rest of the sewing stuff. Now I don't have to feel guilty every time I look at it.

While I was gathering things to donate to the thrift shop I decided to cull the coffee mugs. I swear those things mate when nobody's looking! I pulled eleven mugs out of the cupboard and I still have enough to serve a cup of coffee to every friend I have and have one or two left over.

I feel very virtuous today--I've made a good start on my personal war against stuff. Look out clutter. I'm on a roll!!

AHappy Mother's Day

I was surprised twice with flowers for Mother's Day this year. Tom brought me a pot of the most beautiful daffodils. The trumpet was initially yellow with white petals but gradually the trumpets turned a delicate peach. Daffodils are always welcome and I can't wait to plant them and see them bloom again next year.

Douglas, who always left the gift-buying up to his wife and who now is wifeless, actually sent me a stunning basket of spring flowers to go with his always welcome Mother's Day telephone call. He knows his mom and her love for flowers. And Tommy called me on the phone and sent me a beautiful card he'd made himself. So I had a very happy Mother's Day.

Mother's Hands

The theme of our church's Mother's Day banquet this year was "Mother's Hands" and it got me thinking about my own mother's hands. One of my earliest memories is the feel of Mom's hands on my feverish forehead. They were cool and smooth and I was comforted and confident all would be well because Mom was there. I remember watching her wipe away over and over
the spiders Scott thought were crawling on him one night when he was so sick he was delirious.

When I was a youngster I had a headful of the snarliest hair imaginable. Mom used to tell me I had rats' nests in my curls. Her hands carefully untangled the mess day after day, smoothing my hair into long banana curls or pigtails.

Her hands bathed me and my brothers nightly after we'd spent the day in the sandbox or in Jeff's case, tramping through the pasture. As luck would have it the three of us got the chickenpox all at once and I have a vivid picture of her hands gently washing us, careful not to cause any more trauma to our very itchy selves. Scott requested that she wash the pox off but not even a mother's hands could do that!

Mom's hands were rarely still. They were always rolling out pie dough, spooning cookie dough onto sheets, ironing basketsful of shirts and pillowcases, holding books as she read to us, administering cough syrup to one of us, dishing up supper, or pulling weeds. Making jam; canning jars and jars of tomato juice, green beans, and peaches; washing mountains of laundry, sewing dresses for me, then teaching me to sew for myself; all these were accomplished by my mother's hands.

Little has changed in the intervening years. Her hands are still busy as ever, often in the service of others. They still bake cookies and pies, do laundry, sweep, dust and scrub bathrooms. Often when she tells me what she has accomplished of a morning I am ashamed of my own pitiful accomplishments in the same time.

"She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also and he praises her. Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all." Proverbs 31; 27-29

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

I'm Back!!

The last two weeks have been hectic and I haven't had the inclination to write anything. I'm ready to begin again so here goes. I had copied this prayer some time ago and just found it again today while trying to sort through the ubiquitous clutter on my desk.

St. Theresa's Prayer

May there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this Presence settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. He is there for each and every one of us.

And I found this little bit of advice in an email I received: Live Simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God.