Metaphor alert: This is a tale of a “house” and the “stuff” inside it that took over our brains. Feel free to read that alert as “This tale may or may not be about a real house and actual physical stuff, because a house happens to be a damn great metaphor for a mind.”
And it’s about gratitude. It’s always about gratitude.
My house was built in 1903. It is a large Victorian family home, “farmhouse” Victorian I believe, meaning if doesn’t have the frippery of many Victorians–– no gingerbread trim, no second staircase—but it does have the asymmetrical arrangement of rooms, off center entry foyer, front parlor, nice circular flow of rooms, wide old trim, some decent cabinetry. It hasn’t been updated far out of its century of origin, for the most part. I am lucky to be here.
The combination of humans and animals who inhabit it mightily appreciate its livability. We humans can spread out and not be on top of each other; the animals can avoid each other (or escape when needed), the artists have space to spread out and work, the computer folk have nooks to retreat to, the chefs have enough space (if we’re honest) to prep or to hang out with coffee, the readers can peruse, and the lazy can escape witness.
Unfortunately, one activity this house accommodates better than all others is hoarding. Not pathologically, I don’t think (some may differ). But you combine the minds of artists and engineers and the result––as a rule!––is that any item in the world of this house, any part of an item, or even any part of a part, has in its hypothetical future a brilliant hypothetical use. Or several. Or none, but you never really know, right? That’s the future for ya!
And my beautiful, messy, old, roomy-but-convoluted Victorian home has a dastardly secret that more than enables that hoarding––below the paw scratched old floors looms a dark, sprawling, convoluted, spidery, short ceilinged, lumpy floored, really pretty icky but also large basement.
A basement that is easy to drop half completed projects into…just until we have a chance to put them away.
A basement that is easy to abandon the detritus of old careers and hobbies into...just in case we get back into it or another house member (or friend) (or neighbor) (or kid of a friend) does.
A basement that is easy to tuck redecorated design schemes into, such as extra rolls of wallpaper…in case we need to patch, or in case we need to decorate a doll’s house, or in case we become desperate for wrapping paper or table scaping or decoupaging.
Margarine containers (paint palettes?), broken dishes (mosaics?), bits of pipes (repairs? garden stakes?), shoeboxes (organization? hah!), a zillion cans of paint, going back decades (touchups! projects!), a hundred varieties of screws and nails, shelf hangers of various sorts, at least four drawers labeled “miscellaneous” (hardware, electrical, plumbing, ?), lumber and lumber trimmings, plywood leftovers, darkroom supplies and equipment (need any?), kiln and accessories, colored glass and soldering tools, kids’ leftover art supplies (from when they were actual kids), cartons, shelves, camping supplies, skis long since outgrown, box spring, inherited clothing (costumes? donate?), winter clothing (wear? donate? do they even still fit? are padded shoulders back in yet?), screwdriver sets (another? where did the other five sets get to?), drill sets missing all but two bits, various rechargeables, saws, levels (not necessarily level), “extra” tiles, plumbing supplies (oh! the plumbing supplies! we can fix it!), electrical supplies (same!), coils and bits of wire, and the list goes on ad literally nauseam.
WHY!! Well, because we are creative, because the world is full of possibilities, because we are skilled at many household related activities and are never scared off from projects, sometimes even when we ought to be. If I look and think carefully, I can admit that all those characteristics are both blessings and privileges.
This exercise in documenting just a bit of our dirty little basement secret has been like looking into an old photo album and rediscovering long forgotten friends. In other words, re-seeing the individual parts of the overwhelming stuff, picking out the parts from the whole, has reminded me that the “mess” in the basement is a physical testament to values I respect! Capability, creativity, fearlessness, competence, thriftiness, ingenuity, and more.
Yet until writing that out, I actually didn’t view it as a positive to be proud of. It was my floor of shame, the part we skip over when giving house tours––Oh, that’s just our gross, overly full basement! Now I see it as a million points of pride. Evidence. Clues to me and everything I have been interested in and been proud of and worked on and worked for and skills. It’s all in the noticing, right? Notice, then appreciate!
And I can also step back a bit and see that this noticing, and this appreciating, doesn’t apply only to actual, physical, messy stuff. Not everybody has space to keep stuff, nor the inclination to do so, nor even the ability to have stuff to begin with. But we all live our lives.
We. All. Live. Our. Lives. And our lives, like a basement, become crowded with things we have thought, done, learned, attempted, shamed, pained, prided, achieved, lost, wondered, loved, hated. And each one of those day after living day human experiences can get lost in the moment of who we see ourselves as right this minute, so we tend to shut the door to that basement, to not look back there.
But go ahead and look! We are all of those things, every day, whether we look or not. So, look! Notice, remember even if you can’t remember. It’s all there in the basement, ready to remind us of the fullness of our existence, the fullness of ourselves.
Notice. Acknowledge. Appreciate. Be grateful. For you.
