My husband’s latest obsession? Dishes

Nearly fifty years ago, as my Darling Husband (DH) and I were planning our wedding and life together, I tried to involve him in many of the details. I didn’t want to cut him out of what at the time was a traditionally female process. But, as a twenty-one-year-old man, he was disinterested to say the least. Go figure. I especially wanted his help in choosing the everyday dishes that he’d be eating from–and washing up–for the foreseeable future.  I dragged him to a local department store where we selected a very simple design—ivory, with a thick band of olive green and thin brown stripe. (Earth tones were very big in 1973.) Not my first choice, but in the interest of compromise, we registered our pattern.

Weeks later my mother began displaying wedding gifts on the dining room table, as one does. Or did. Is that still a thing? Anyway, DH remarked that he liked the dishes.

“You should like them. You picked them out,” I said.

“Huh. I don’t remember ever seeing them before.”

Henceforth, I was a little less worried about involving  DH in those kinds of decisions. And in the intervening years, as our needs and my tastes evolved, I chose kid-proof Corelle or beautiful Pfaltzgraff dishes with minimal input from him. Over time our earth tones were replaced by blue and white china, white enamelware, and lovely cobalt blue glass. Pretty, right?

Fast-forward forty-six years.

My much-loved Pfaltzgraff collection was showing signs of thirty years everyday use. I mentioned to DH that I might get some new dishes, but not all at once. I’d merely incorporate the new, little by little. DH said he’d always like Fiestaware. Me too. It’s been around since the 1930s and fits right in with our vintage-old-crap-from-every-dead-relative decor. So, I chose a few Fiesta place settings that coordinated beautifully with the remaining unchipped pieces of Pfaltzgraff. Even the transition would look fine. Slowly, I’d add more pieces I found at thrift shops and yard sales. Keyword: Slowly. The hunt would give me pleasure. Not to mention the thrill of serendipitously finding a bargain. Remember, I didn’t really need new dishes.

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My starter sets of Fiestaware in Lapis, Ivory, and Meadow

Conversely, DH is very much an instant gratification sort of guy. Always has been. That hasn’t changed. Hence, he soon became dogged in his search for pieces to replace every single item in the cupboard and others that were somehow iconic to the Fiesta brand. Now. Watch lists on eBay. Wish lists on Amazon. Email alerts when new pieces arrived. He ordered things without telling me until they are on their way. He even bought me a Fiestaware encyclopedia.

All to show he loves me, of course. Bless his heart.

While I am donating my discarded Pfaltzgraff to a local charity that helps needy families furnish their homes, my material footprint has not shrunk in the least. And I’ve lost control over what had been my purview for decades. Granted it’s only the color scheme for our dinnerware–and the pace at which it changes–but still.

Furthermore, we once again needed to have that little chat about how the ways in which he shows his love don’t always match the ways I feel that love.

So, where is that oblivious young man I married? At the other computer, checking to see if the cute miniature pitcher is available in Cobalt. Or maybe Scarlet.

 

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The purge continues

446f46a234421c92e49b6c1ab9ed8106The recycling bin was especially heavy this week after I went searching for space in a file cabinet in which to file a few hard-copies of drafts and other pieces related to my current writing project. How-tos on scene building, character development, querying, and the like were tumbling off my shelf in our office. What I discovered was an entire file drawer filled with outlines, overheads, and handouts for presentations I’d done as a literacy coordinator and teacher consultant for the Northern Nevada Writing Project. All neatly tabbed, sorted, and archived.  Mind you, I’ve been retired for over ten years and in that time, NO ONE has asked me to present. No one.

Yes, I had spent hours developing this pile of stuff. And it was all good. Really. But it has nothing to do with my life now. And no, burdening some young teacher with my old stuff would only add to their work. And it didn’t contain the current buzz words—Common Core or Standards-Based—which would be necessary for inclusion in today’s classroom. So yes. It all went.

De-cluttering has become a habit.c3f2140c603c60236b1430916c26a455

Two and a half years ago, when we moved from our BIG house (basement, attic), to a medium house (no basement, no attic) we tossed or donated about half of our worldly goods. The purge continues. These days, I keep a bag in the sewing/model train room to collect small items as I continue to edit my collection of kitchen utensils, bras, shoes, picture frames, baking tins. jewelry, scarves, doodads, and what-nots. When the bag is full–at least once a month–I drop it off at the nearby donation center. This week my donation will include two large wooden, thirty-year-old dollhouses and tub of furnishings. My granddaughter–the reason I saved them in the first place–says she’s outgrown them.

Nonetheless, some things—like my grandmother’s 1910 Queen Anne sofa with its down cushions—are pretty and useful and comfortable. But I recognize that there will likely come a time and place when having that and her cute old Singer sewing machine (in its cabinet!) are simply too much. And the jam-packed curio cabinet and Hoosier with my collection of Depression glass and vintage snack trays? That will have to go too. But not yet. They still make me happy, although less so as time goes on.0c452eb429c85b90523f85f798b5ee00

You see, I don’t want to burden my children with too many of these “treasures.” What 30/40-ish person wants three cut glass relish dishes? Certainly no one I’m related to. So, I keep whittling away at my material wealth. Perhaps by the time I am ready to move into assisted living (or am taken to the big garage sale in the sky) there won’t be much left. My daughters won’t have to worry about what to do with all my crap. I won’t be cluttering up their homes. And I hereby absolve them from any guilt about what they must give away.2f87e90f263b08ca9bcafc7ac53f2b4e

Serendipitously, many of the meditations in my yoga classes lately have been about de-cluttering our lives and our minds to reveal what is essential, to find focus. I’m finding that particularly apt these days, not only in my physical environment, but in other aspects of my life. I’ll be focusing my posts on that for a while. Have you tried de-cluttering as a habit? What have you discovered?