Being that the old contract is coming to an end here in Korea, I've started to take stock of all the things I have, both here in Korea and at home, scattered around the homes of my friends. I've come to realize that I'm a changed person. Let me explain.
I used to save everything. I'm not exaggerating. I have an empty box of chocolates from my tenth grade boyfriend. I have since filled it with all things from that relationship and the one that followed: movie stubs, random bronze statues, bracelets, necklaces, letters...you get the picture. That was a LOT of years ago, yet even though I've moved umpteen times since then, I can probably pinpoint (in fact, I just did) exactly where it is in the piles upon piles of stuff at Shalaina's and Alicia's (do I have stuff anywhere else?). The point is, I like to keep things. I think they'll matter later. Sometimes they do...but then I start to question my sanity. Why DO they matter so much later?
My changed self thinks an uncluttered, small home is best. After all, do I really need a two and a half story house unless I'm just going to fill it with stuff I don't need? Maybe not. And, as I attempted to convince Leanne when we Skyped this weekend, I'm fairly confident that when I move back to Canada For Good, I will live like I do now: in a teeny tiny (okay, small...that's more realistic) place, close to work (just with a bigger kitchen for the oft thrown dinner party I'm bound to have).
The Mother Hen is the champion of all things decluttered. She should probably take pictures of her house to prove it so I can post them and show you. In fact, when they moved from the house to the condo, there was a huge purge and they ended up with just enough of everything. Case and point: I gave my mother two strawberry-print mugs as a gift. She proceeded to toss out two perfectly good mugs to allow room for the new ones. She's ruthless. Don't misunderstand: she recycles, donates, and finds new uses for things all the time too...she isn't wasteful. I was shocked to see her storage unit in the condo basement. It has a vibe like this bureau...
Go down the street to the house of my Father (the pack-rat). He, like me, saves everything. Perhaps he thinks movie stubs from his first date will somehow become important sometime in the future too: who knows. At any rate, I come by the hoarding honestly.
But I've decided that from now on, no more! I will donate, give away, recycle, and just plain toss out all the junk I don't need. And that's that. This after reading some organizational blogs and having the story of the Collyer brothers brought to my attention. Disgusting! Read on...if you dare.
I used to save everything. I'm not exaggerating. I have an empty box of chocolates from my tenth grade boyfriend. I have since filled it with all things from that relationship and the one that followed: movie stubs, random bronze statues, bracelets, necklaces, letters...you get the picture. That was a LOT of years ago, yet even though I've moved umpteen times since then, I can probably pinpoint (in fact, I just did) exactly where it is in the piles upon piles of stuff at Shalaina's and Alicia's (do I have stuff anywhere else?). The point is, I like to keep things. I think they'll matter later. Sometimes they do...but then I start to question my sanity. Why DO they matter so much later?
My changed self thinks an uncluttered, small home is best. After all, do I really need a two and a half story house unless I'm just going to fill it with stuff I don't need? Maybe not. And, as I attempted to convince Leanne when we Skyped this weekend, I'm fairly confident that when I move back to Canada For Good, I will live like I do now: in a teeny tiny (okay, small...that's more realistic) place, close to work (just with a bigger kitchen for the oft thrown dinner party I'm bound to have).
The Mother Hen is the champion of all things decluttered. She should probably take pictures of her house to prove it so I can post them and show you. In fact, when they moved from the house to the condo, there was a huge purge and they ended up with just enough of everything. Case and point: I gave my mother two strawberry-print mugs as a gift. She proceeded to toss out two perfectly good mugs to allow room for the new ones. She's ruthless. Don't misunderstand: she recycles, donates, and finds new uses for things all the time too...she isn't wasteful. I was shocked to see her storage unit in the condo basement. It has a vibe like this bureau...
Go down the street to the house of my Father (the pack-rat). He, like me, saves everything. Perhaps he thinks movie stubs from his first date will somehow become important sometime in the future too: who knows. At any rate, I come by the hoarding honestly.
But I've decided that from now on, no more! I will donate, give away, recycle, and just plain toss out all the junk I don't need. And that's that. This after reading some organizational blogs and having the story of the Collyer brothers brought to my attention. Disgusting! Read on...if you dare.
In lugubrious tones not unlike Boris Karloff's, my father described the vague aura of evil that had endowed the four-story brownstone on the northwest corner of Fifth Avenue and 128th Street for much of the 1930's and 40's.
And it was there that they amassed one of the world's legendary collections of urban junk, a collection so extraordinary that their accomplishment, such as it was, came to represent the ultimate New York cautionary tale.
The Collyers had carved a network out of the neck-deep rubble.
Homer went blind in the mid-30's and was crippled by rheumatism in 1940. His brother nursed him, washed him, fed him a hundred oranges a week in a bizarre attempt to cure his blindness and saved newspapers for him to read when he regained his sight. Hundreds of thousands of newspapers.
from psychologistworld.com...
The Collyer brothers were first mentioned in the newspapers when they got in trouble with the bank in 1942 after they refused to pay their mortgage on the house. Langley eventually wrote out a check after police had come crashing in the front door, only to be stopped by the huge pile of junk set up to keep people out.
from the New York Sun on April 13, 2005...
By the end of the second day, according to the Times, the first floor hallway alone had yielded 19 tons of debris. Thousands of passersby walked or drove by, but the Daily News reported that "few lingered. ... They were driven away by the smells."
A Surrogate's Court official hired movers on March 31 to empty the house. After ripping out the cellar doors, they began removing Homer's 2,500-volume law library, only a 10th of the books in the house. Amidst hundreds of tons of garbage, they found family oil portraits; hope chests jammed with unused piece goods, silks, wool, damask, and brocade; a half-dozen toy trains; 14 upright and grand pianos; chandeliers; tapestries; 13 ornate mantel clocks; 13 Oriental rugs; five violins; two organs, and Langley's certificate of merit for punctuality and good conduct from Public School 69 for the week ending April 19, 1895.
By April 3, the Herald Tribune reported that the movers, in clearing only two first-floor rooms, had removed 51 tons of stuff. Another 52 tons later, on April 8, they found Langley's body. Police told the Sun that his clothing may have snagged a tripwire, releasing a booby trap that had buried him alive in paper.
from psychologistworld.com...
Finally on April 8, 1947, workman Artie Matthews found the dead body of Langley Collyer. It turned out he was only ten feet from where Homer had died. Three huge bundles of newspapers covered his body. Langley had been crawling through their newspaper tunnel to bring food to his paralyzed brother when his own booby trap fell down and crushed him.
I'll think twice next time I want to save a momento pamphlet from a Korean palace or buy a Mexican sombrero ;)
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