WHAT WE ENDED UP NOT DOING

We went into IKEA looking for two things: something to replace the old hutch in the dining room and some sort of storage unit with a trash can for the bathroom. We found the thing we want to replace the hutch. It’s name is Billy, but they were all out of Billys (Billies?). The storage unit for the bathroom turned into a whole moment of “we’re completely remodeling the bathroom”. New sink. New sink cabinet. New medicine cabinets. We were going to strip the bathroom down and repaint and then put in all of these new things. Except when we got the area to load up all the pieces, IKEA did not have the sink. So, we bought new cushions for the dining benches, a new light fixture for the hallway, and three boxes for our Billy that we will eventually get.

We got home and unloaded all of the things and then I said “Wait. How are we supposed to turn the light on with this new fixture.” Michael said “I don’t know what you mean. You just turn the light on.” Then I said “But you need a light switch. There’s not a light switch in the hallway.” The current light is a pull a string light comes on system. Michael was still confused, so I had to physically show him the differences between having a light switch and not having a light switch. Then his light switch turned on and he said “Oh no.” The next morning while watching CBS Sunday Morning, I put together my three boxes that are intended for Billy and realized very quickly that those boxes were not going to fit in Billy. They are made to fit the Kallax. The only correct purchases that we made at IKEA were the new cushions on the dining table benches and more kitchen sponges.

It’s fine. We’ve decide to put the new light fixture in the kitchen and I did some reorganizing to use the boxes in our Kallax.

I did a lot of reorganizing this weekend. By the time I decided to stop, I had filled three and half garbage bags with clothes, shoes, bags and some other useless items. Michael joked with the Cabbage that he didn’t know what was going on but that he was just happy he wasn’t in one of those bags. Then I heard Michael say something like “Cindy’s going crazy.” and I cringed while trying not to take it personally. He just thinks that he’s being funny, but what he doesn’t know is that there have been so many moments where I am decluttering because my brain has gone a little crazy. Clearing out useless stuff is an action I can fall back on in the moments I am feeling anxious or out of control. My decluttering moments do seem to put him on edge even though it is my own stuff I’m cleaning out and he’s regularly complaining about not having room his things. He doesn’t see it when I am decluttering to make more space for him or that I hear his complaints about not having a place to put his books and things and I am trying to remedy this for him. His failure to see that I am trying to make space for him makes me feel as if I will never be able to clear out enough space for him. It is a never enough situation.

I did not allow that to happen this weekend. I ignored every little joke or comment on my sanity and I cleared space in my house for me. Not because I was feeling anxious or that I need to feel in control. I cleared it because I want to be able to easily access things in my closet and in my dresser. There were a lot of failures this weekend. Some of those failures were beyond my control. We still do not have a couch and probably won’t for another two weeks. I was unable to make any headway with the dining room furniture. Those three and half garbage bags of no longer useful stuff is a win.

Maybe even a bronze medal level of win.

OUR BASEMENT FLOOD WAS THE BEST THING TO HAPPEN TO US

The cleanest this basement has ever been.

7 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "The cleanest this basement has ever been."

Every year, my New Year’s resolution includes cleaning out and pairing down. Every. Year. Every year, I fail miserably. This year? It took a flooded basement to get me to complete this goal. The insurance company contacted a cleaning service Thursday morning and by Thursday afternoon, the whole crew was in my basement. They told us that everything on the floor was a loss unless it was made of metal. This included the pallet shelves Michael built. All the things on those shelves had to go into our dining room and living room. The garage filled up with all of the unsalvageable items. Friday morning, Michael and I went shopping for a new washer and dryer and some new shelves. Michael called a dumpster service and Friday afternoon we had a big trash dumpster parked in our driveway.

We tossed. We threw. We hauled. We hustled.

By Saturday night we had cleared out all the garbage from every nook and cranny of the house and garage, as well as a pile of brush from our yard and the neighbor’s yard. We managed to pair ourselves down to three boxes of keepsakes, a box of my mother’s china, three boxes of ebay items, a few games, four boxes of Christmas decorations (including the tree), one Halloween box, two tents, a metal detector, one pottery wheel, and some of our large kitchen items that we don’t use every day. Ten boxes were placed in front of the garage for the Boys and Girl’s club donation pick up today. By late Sunday morning, I was washing clothes in our new fancy washing machine. The dryer sings you a song when it is done. The inside of the house has been swept and vacuumed and there is no evidence of the chaos of having all of the things in our living room.

I feel like we accomplished superhuman feats this weekend. Michael and I pass each other in the house and high five. I look around the living room and then say “hey, remember that one time when all of our stuff from the basement was in here?” Then I go down to the basement and walk around the clean floor. The basement is cleaner now then when Chris and I moved in seven years ago (almost 8 years). It is bitter sweet. At times I had to reconcile my need for the tangible memory versus just having the memory. I had no choice over the things that were damaged like Chris’s framed Simpson’s lithograph and framed Futurama poster. I held on to a few trinkets. A Saint Christopher charm. A Ghostbuster’s pin. An original Han Solo figure. Michael kept telling me that he didn’t want me to think that he was asking me to throw away all of Chris’s things. I don’t feel like he was pushing me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I don’t feel like he was pushing me to do anything Chris wouldn’t want for me to do. Chris struggled between wanting to be free of all of his things and wanting to have all of the cool things. I think, at times, he was crippled by the weight of the amount of things he had collected.

I remind myself that this house was never really mine and Chris’s. We never got the chance to nest in it together. We moved in believing that we would move out in a year and so we never really unpacked or painted the walls or even hung up much artwork. Chris was sick by the time we signed the paperwork on the house. All the changes that were made to the interior of the house came after Chris. Getting rid of his things doesn’t free me from Chris because I’ve never felt imprisoned by his memory but I do feel free. Free of the things that weighed us down.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * Oct 10, 2018 at 7:53pm UTC

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Monday evening, while washing dishes, I noticed the water was not getting hot. Michael went to the basement to investigate and discovered that we had water in our basement. The drain had gotten clogged enough that water pooled causing the pilot light to go out on the hot water tank. It also fried the washer and dryer. That night I dreamed that I was trapped in a cabin with an enraged bear. The bear spoke english, but he was so blinded by rage that I couldn’t reason with him as I scrambled from hiding place to hiding place. He was angrily smashing furniture and ripping cloth with his large razor sharp claws, saliva dripping from his canines. I kept trying to calm the bear down and explain to him that I was one of the good guys and I just wanted to help him get out. He smashed the wood table I was hiding under and I woke up.

I don’t know if the bear represented Michael or the basement or a combination of both.

I am trying to negotiate with the insurance company on getting someone to help with the clean up process and with replacing the washer and dryer. Fans are blowing and the dehumidifier is humming in order to dry things out. The plumber showed up between two and six on Thursday to snake the drain. There is nothing for us to do right now but wait and make tentative plans on how we are going to tackle all of this mess. To add to our anxiety, the cat has been missing since Monday. The mood around here is at a serious low. I keep telling myself that it could be worse. We could have sewage backing up into the basement. Then I remind myself that even if we did, that wouldn’t be as bad as the first time I had sewage backing up into the basement, back when I was desperately trying to keep someone alive while trying to clean up raw sewage. You know that time when I was juggling Faberge eggs and I dropped all of them and they shattered into a million pieces? I suppose I am grateful that this time is not like that one time.

When I am not fighting off bears or wondering where the cat might be, I am thinking about the concept of not doing enough. Dr. Mary told me a story about one of her friends that she visits. The woman is 94 years old and she plays bridge every Monday with the same group of woman that she’s been playing bridge with for 60 years. Recently, this woman’s bridge partner passed away. Her name was Anne. Anne played bridge on Monday, caught a cold on Wednesday and then passed on from this world on Sunday. She was 92. Dr. Mary’s friend was devastated and said “I feel that I could have done something more for Anne.” I received many comments on Monday’s blog entry that expressed similar feelings in regards to a lost loved one. Wanting to do more for the ones we love is universal and often spills over to people we don’t even know. I’m thinking of that scene in Schindler’s list when Oskar Schindler breaks down and says “I could have saved more. I could have saved more.”

The knowledge that there are so many of us out there willing to do more for not only our loved ones, but for complete strangers, gives me hope. The trick is finding a balance between wanting to do more, doing what we can and accepting that we have done what we could. That acceptance part is probably the most challenging. It’s the tight rope of my Faberge egg juggling act.

UPDATE: The cat is home! He’s alive! With no visible injuries! Cleaners came and cleaned the basement. Everything that was in the basement is now in the living room/dining room and garage. Am I freaking out? You betcha ya!