Accidental Self-Knowledge

 

Eventually, I will leave.  I will pack up, make a new start, and move somewhere in the pursuit of that ever-elusive happiness: a sunshine-laden beach, and the success I dream of.  But for now, I am employed (gratefully), working mostly remotely (mega-gratefully), and enjoying the company of the dogs, birds and cat (on most days).  As I said a year ago, this has been the longest LENT in the history of Catholicism.  Don’t ask me what I am “giving up” – I think “SANITY” was an optional sacrifice at one or two junctures of the pandemic. 

There is one thing I noticed, though:  I collect things.  When my two favorite magazines that come in the mail have the word “Collection” right in their title, you understand my bent.  I actually read these magazines as I have dinner.  Mostly I have dinner with Marie once a week, because she is such a good cook, but she tends to go too generous on the salt so we can’t do it every night (Marie Callendar).  Too much salt, and lax patterns of activity and hydration create rotund secretaries.  But back to the Collections topic ….  Because I am home, almost incessantly, I started to notice the environment that I have built up around me.

My college friend Margaret said to me once when we were talking about decorating that she finds small groupings of things visually pleasing.  Here we are over 30 years later, and I realize that I somehow find Large Groupings of things visually pleasing …. Until they are NOT – and then they are overwhelming.  It never bothers people when they see a home that has a few groupings of house plants.  But, we are not talking about house plants here.  Yes, I have those, but oh so much more!

It was the bird houses at first.  Little colorful bird houses I had painted, a nightlight shaped like a bird house I bought in Lancaster a few years ago, a plant holder shaped like a bird house, a cookie jar shaped like a …. You guessed it:  bird house. 

Then you will notice the candles.  Yankee candles.  Walmart candles.  Little candles.  Big candles.  Soy candles that burn nicely; regular candles that burn dirty (is there such a thing really as a “clean burn”?).  Tall, unscented, Catholic candles with the Lord’s picture on them; Short, little candles with a decorative label on them telling me what scent I should anticipate.  In a certain sense, you could probably write a Dr. Seuss rhyme about all my candles:  You can find them on a shelf; you can find them by an elf.  You will see one in the hall; and there is one on the wall.  They come in white or blue; and we have red and pink ones too…. You get the idea.

My VHS tape bins are labeled, and now no one uses VHS tapes anymore.  So all my organization is good for … what?  I have quite the collection of DVD’s because as we all know, there is only really “trash” on television … until you have ROKU and can get pretty much anything for free or at a minimal price.  It’s crazy.  One could actually stop living their actual real life and just get soaked up in the re-runs of Commish (whom I love, having just discovered him last year) and armywives (my new friends) and McLeod’s daughters (who knew series could run for so long?  God bless those Australians!).

And then there are The Angels.  Years ago I attended a wedding in San Antonio.  My college friends and I were received very graciously there by a young woman who literally gave us her house for the weekend.  We noticed that she collected Angels.  Just angels.  Not plants, books, bird houses, candles, etc., like some people you know & love.  We walked from room to room counting angels.  There were like 80 of them.  But see that’s the thing:  because she collected just ONE thing, it wasn’t overwhelming.  And when she goes to pack up that house to move somewhere else, she won’t be tearing her hair out trying to pack a million boxes.  She won’t be making multiple yard sales or trips to the Rescue Mission or Salvation Army drop-off points.  She will simply pack, and move.  Unlike me.

One hundred years from now, when They come to find out why the mailbox filled up and spilled over (more than it does now, thanks to 101 charities I don’t support) They will find my house all boxed up and a skeleton of, well, ME with bubble wrap in my hand still packing bird houses, candles, dvd’s, video tapes, and all the plastic knives I kept from when I buy my weekly bagel and Dunkin’.  That’s what They will find.

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