BY JOELLEN COLLINS
A visiting friend recently introduced me to her newfound philosophy of keeping order in a home. She is already meticulous, and her house sparkles, but like most of us who have accumulated possessions, many sentimental, we have cluttered drawers, closets and shelves. She has suggested a couple of books about saying goodbye to unworn clothes, kept letters and cards, old and never-used kitchen equipment, and most of the books I have acquired since the fire that decimated my collection as a young bride.
I must say I am not a hoarder, but the thought of walking into my sunroom and not seeing the colorful bookshelves along the north wall astounds me. It may be hard to describe that joy as well as the thrill I get sitting on my very small deck midst the concentration of flowers in summertime. I love the vivid hues of both places and the nourishment to my soul that both represent.
I was going to write a different column this week, and while I was mulling the idea over, I searched through several of my books to find a sentence or quote that reinforced my thoughts. The process is much more fun for me than hunting on the Internet, though it is certainly rewarding to quickly check a name or fact or statistic on the Web. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the stroll through the books I cherish.
I know why I love my books. They are like the family photographs in the fire and the new ones I’ve since acquired. They reflect the imagination, the memories and the history of my growth in ways no other things can. Since I write in the margins or underline perfect words and phrases, I have the additional pleasure of remembering why those words meant so much. Many times they were fodder for my teaching.
So I am going to keep these parts of my clutter. I will take out some of the books that weren’t as good as others, and the several books I always meant to read but, alas, have spent years in their slots, imprisoned by my good intentions.
Next, I fear, the shelves of fabric scraps and yardage that I have used in my appliqué pieces have to be winnowed down. I am not sewing as much as I did before, but I still think maybe – just maybe – that tiny piece of cotton with the brown swirls might be good as someone’s hair in a picnic scene I might create.
If it’s hard to say goodbye to those items or the brilliant student compositions I have kept from my English classes, then imagine how nearly impossible it is to say farewell to people I love. I have always imagined those I cherish as parts of a long chain I want near me so I can check in with them at any time. Unfortunately, the metaphor is apt, and I can’t remove that pathetic fantasy from my messy human mind, as cluttered as my cupboards.
