The Lure of STUFF

 I have written before about Stuff: the tangible items we fill our homes and lives with. You know what I mean: furniture, books, pencils, cookware, pictures on the wall, dishes—you name it, we all tend to have it (often in excess).

I try hard to eschew acquiring more Stuff at this point in my life. I noted in a long ago post that someone had challenged me on the sparseness of my life,  suggesting I really wanted to live a more luxurious life. The inquisitor loved (and purchased) lots of Stuff: tons of clothes, expensive meals in fancy restaurants, and pricey tickets to special events, to name a few.

Nope, wasn't for me then. Not for me now. If anything, I am often looking for way to lighten the overload of my Stuff in this house. (It's a long journey.)

All the same, I am in the midst of a test of my willpower to stay true to my principles and NOT add more Stuff to my life and this household.

As I have mentioned in recent posts, my father has moved into a one-bedroom apartment in an assisted living facility. (Wonderful move.) As he settles in, he has made it very clear that he wants very few items from his home of 54 years—no photos, the kitchen bulletin board full of more photos, most of his clothes, all but one or two books, and so on. As a result, his apartment is crisp and has a few items that hold deep personal meaning for him, but the rest of the Stuff of his prior life is not in the way. [And, for the record, Dad calls these items "Stuff" too. To quote him yesterday and today when I asked him about specific items, he looked at me and said "I don't want that Stuff here."]

As a result, my brother Mike, his wife Kate, their grandson Arlo, Warren, and I are taking the lead on clearing Dad's house of Stuff. There is a lot. A. Lot. And this is where I find myself being lured...

Last evening Warren and I went out to the house to deliver some items (for Mike and Kate to work with today) and we looked at a few things while there. Look at the pans—oooh. Oh, look at the blue ceramic serving bowl—ahhh. There was a snug-looking hoodie sweatshirt (a zip jacket) in Dad's closet (more about that later). 

My hand was on the bowl to "just" think about it. Warren and I pulled out several of the pans, which match some of ours. Then it hit us both: we have pans and plenty of them. As for the ceramic bowl, I have bowls that I like and those are more than enough. As for the hoodie sweatshirt, it came to me at about 5:00 a.m. (my usual waking time) that I have a hoodie zip-up sweatshirt, one that in fact Warren bought for me on a trip out west when I needed something warmer for a day at the Oregon coast. Whenever I slip it on, I think of that trip and smile. In short, we did not need any of these items, we lack the room for some of them (the pans, definitely), and we are more than okay with the Stuff we already own and use. 

But I confess: the siren call of Stuff caught me in the end.

I was opening various drawers in the kitchen to see what all was there. Potholders galore (decorative and "cute" if you are into that kind of thing, some of them still in the wrapper they came in, but not very functional for heavy-duty cooking and baking) in one. An outdated can of baking powder in another. You get the idea. 

And then in one drawer...

A manual can opener. Not just a manual can opener, but a bright red,  lightweight one. 

We have a can opener at home. It is large and it works well. It is also heavy. This one is red and shiny and light. This one had never been taken off the cardboard backing it was on when purchased for the staggering price of...wait for it...$2.00

I didn't even hesitate, but picked it up and brought it home. I took it off the backing this morning, opened a can zip-zip-zip, and smiled.

Yes, it's one more item of Stuff. But it's red. And lightweight. And...I can live with adding it to our home.

The 2024 Gardens (Part 7) and Some Other Updates

The Black-eyed Susans recently bloomed

I know, I know. It has been almost a month since I last wrote anything. Let's just say a lot (a lot more, that is) has happened.

On the home/personal front: Dad by his own decision moved into the assisted living portion of the facility that he has been at since mid-June. Medicare was ending his rehab stay and he had a few days to make the decision: return home or move into one of their AL suites? He had been speculating that "maybe" it was time to look at leaving the house, which he has lived in since 1970 (so a strong pull there) and which is not well-suited for a person with mobility and other issues. "Not well-suited," I say? Absolutely terribly suited. The house was built around 1840, which means some hallways and doorways are very narrow, and is made of limestone blocks. Large limestone blocks, which means a giant step from the porch into the house, among other things. My brothers and I held off on pushing him one way or another; when he would bring the matter up with me and raise some of his worries about returning home, I would nod, repeat back what he said, and add that I agree. In the end, in a Sunday morning call with his sister Gail (who lives on the west coast), he announced he was moving into one of the apartments at the place where he was currently in rehab. Gail let out a happy shriek, I almost dropped the phone, and we were off and rolling. That following Monday was move-in for us: furniture (yes, we hired a moving company), personal items from home, whatever, and that Tuesday he moved in from his rehab room to his new one-bedroom suite. It is on the ground floor, so he can watch people coming and going. "I saw you walking up," he announced to me with satisfaction last week. Yep, sure did.

The distance from my front door to his is .85 miles. I can walk it in about 17 minutes. Perfect. And Dad is happy. That is the very best part of this move. He is happy. 

Other great parts of the last few weeks: Warren retired officially on July 31 from the Central Ohio Symphony, going out quietly as was his long-desired wish. (How long? Warren told me 18 years ago while attending a retirement celebration for the then City Fire Chief that he wanted nothing like that when he finally retired.) There are still a few loose ends to help tie up; in a very small non-profit, especially one in the arts world, there are no clean exits, but for the most part he is done, done, done. And enjoying it immensely: he just walked into my study as I am finishing this and expressed great satisfaction at being home on such a beautiful morning. 

Actually, we DID have a small retirement gathering. That evening, we invited our neighbors on both sides to our back deck for snacks and sparkers (a 4th of July gift from a local realtor). The two youngest ones, 5 and 10, enjoyed the sparklers, and everyone enjoyed the evening, the root beer, the laughter, and the talk. Afterwards, Warren gave a satisfied sigh and said that was the perfect way to wrap up his career. And it was.

Some folks keep asking whether we are going to travel, what is Warren going to do to "keep busy," and so on. Ha. He has put his business and interests on the back burner for so long that he is now focusing on bringing his business (custom percussion instruments and repairs/rebuilds of others) back online that there is no worry about "keeping busy." Among other clients, the New York Philharmonic (yes, THAT orchestra) is eagerly waiting for his work. 

And then there's the garden. Gardens, rather. This morning I went out and cut basil for the first time:

Some of the basil from this morning

It filled a 13-gallon trash bag (and the lower shelf of the refrigerator); I plan on making the first bath of 2024 pesto tonight. 

Waiting for its close-up 

I picked the first zucchini of 2024:

More to come! 

Both gardens are going great guns, despite the late start. The tomatoes are coming on strong. It should be a bountiful year.

Kitchen garden

Hej garden

It is already a bountiful year, in my book. Between Dad's move (yes, we have a house to empty out and put on the market, but that is small beans given the enormity of his making his own decision to move), Warren's retirement and next phase of his life, and other ongoing projects (maybe I'll write about Justice Bus and my reentry into legal advising soon), we have full plates. 

I still go outside as dusk falls (earlier and earlier, to my enormous satisfaction) and sit and listen and watch. (In the last two months, I have missed maybe 3 nights total. Maybe.) The fireflies are fewer in number, but still out there. Katydids have joined the night chorus (previously mostly cicadas) and are singing fortissimo. And, if I sit long enough, I see the bats dancing in the sky. 

And that is an abundant life no matter how you measure it.