I get really overwhelmed by stuff. M and V's room is off the chain messy right now. V lost her field day shirt and asked me to help her find it. I did not find the field day shirt, but I did find about eleven clothing nests in areas I couldn't have predicted: two in her loft, one beside her night desk, two in craft drawers, one under the futon, one under her dresser, and none of her dresser clothes were where they should be. V= Illicit Storage Mouse.
M's stuff is more organized, but she hangs hers from hooks in layers. Her layering is so lavish that the light from the window is effectively blocked out. M = Fancy Bag Worm.
Occasionally I go through and organize everything from fore to aft, but now I can't. Plus, it's time for them to begin to do this stuff on their own.
I haven't mentioned my stuff. My problem is the thrift store. I have so many clothes - nice ones - that I don't have room for them all. My first world problems are so painful.
Anyway, I have a dream. I dream of packing for a two-week vacation and then boxing up / giving away everything that didn't make the cut, then unpacking to live life. Isn't that okay? The question is, how long would it take for the stuff to multiply again to reach the present level of stuff chaos. (I put my money on 8 months.)
On the other hand, I need this 100% cotton handkerchief, these manilla folders, a pair of dark brown lace-up suede pumps AND a pair of sand-colored oiled leather slip-on pumps. Of course all the camping gear is absolutely necessary. We need twice as many towels as there are people, at least one extra change of sheets per bed, as well as all the receipts we've collected from the previous seven years in case we get audited. Not to mention all the kids' artwork that captures a moment in time now forever lost.
It slips away, doesn't it? It all slips away, and that's the truth. I have taken care of a handful of patients who have been close to death lately. Some knew it, some didn't. All that's there at the end is a gown with snaps, a flannel blanket, and probably a chucks pad. On a bed. The people who surround you are the beginning and the end of what matters. Doesn't matter what they're wearing or if their shoes and belt match...or even coordinate. What matters is the skin of someone's hand touching the skin of your hand, a voice you hear when your eyes are closed, and permission to let go.
Can I hold this thought just tightly enough to get down to 4 pairs of dress pants and 4 skirts, total? We'll see.
4 comments:
Be sure to keep your computer and internet service (or a library card) so that we can continue to enjoy your writing.
Sweet Baby, If it turns out to be an 8 month cycle that's pretty cool. Laundry Guy, Floor Guy and Dishwasher will applaud your progress. Go Girl!
None of that worldly possessions stuff matters. In the end whether you have 1 pair or 17 pairs of shoes that match your gloves it won't come close to what REALLY counts.
You'll remember the times you had with the ones that matter and the lives you touched on the job.
At least that's what I think of sitting on the porch with my a cool drink in my hand.
oh dear friend, I miss you. Gave me goosebumps and gave a lot of gravity to this dark room I'm sitting in, monitoring a few sick patients
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