Clearing the Clutter

It's about this time of year clearing the clutter becomes a major focus for many of us. Spring cleaning ensues as the days become longer and the setting sun through our window brings attention to the blinds that haven't been dusted properly for several months. It's the time for detoxing the body of impurities, as well as the time for detoxing our closets, drawers and garages of the unwanted stuff we've been collecting all winter (or longer). Yard sales become more prevalent. Spring editions of my favorite magazines publish articles on clearing the clutter, reorganizing your space, donating gently used items to charitable organizations.

I'm no different. Something about that spring equinox gives me a spurt of energy and enthusiasm for purging. I've gone through closets, kitchen cupboards, desk drawers and the space under my bed until a pile of shopping bags were stacked in Dr. Seuss fashion against a wall in my living room awaiting the charity truck's arrival. There is no excuse not to get rid of unwanted or unused stuff when someone will come by and pick it up for you. My one bedroom apartment easily begins to bust at the seams if purging isn't done on a regular basis.

I sound so insensitive and unattached as I talk about chucking out the old and relieving some sorely needed closet space. Until...yes, until I'm forced to admit one thing. More than being ashamed, I'm actually rather baffled by this fact. I still have 24 years after the wedding and 9 years after the divorce, my wedding gown. Why do I still have this absurd thing in my possession? I have no idea. It's still in it's "preserved" wedding gown box- the kind where you can see the bodice through a window in the front of it.

One friend commented in horror when I confessed, "You live in a one bedroom apartment! Where are you storing this thing?" Yes, this is my own reaction. Believe me. There is just something keeping me from pushing this (rather large) box out onto the curb along with all my other discarded crap for a strange truck to come by and load up like a piece of garbage. I don't really know why. No one in my family is ever going to want to wear the thing. I got married in 1987. That says it all.

As I began confessing to other friends, also divorced, I learned I am not alone. One friend has the gown from her first wedding still hanging in her closet. That garment has been hanging there for the duration of two marriages and witnessed two divorces. But there is something that prevents her from hauling it away. My brother's ex-wife who I'm very close to still has hers a couple years after her divorce in hopes that one of her daughters might want it. It's funny that we somehow hold more value on the dress than the guys we wore it for. I haven't seen or spoken to my ex-husband for nine years, but I've got this dress staring at me every time I open my coat closet.

If that's not enough, my boyfriend has his ex-wife's gown in his closet! When she moved out, he asked her if she was going to take that with her. "Nope" was all she said.

The dress doesn't represent anything significant for me except a lot of money spent on something I'll never wear again. I did like it. It was special at the time, but I certainly don't keep it for sentimental reasons. I requested the divorce. There is no emotional clutter to clear out. I'm not carrying around some old baggage of deep seeded sorrow and pain. No way. So why can't I seem to part with the dress? I'd like to do something that makes me feel better somehow. Something that makes me feel like it was worth the cost and effort.

My ex-sister-in-law said she went to St. Vincent De Paul recently and saw a wedding gown hanging in the window. Her immediate thought was "Eee Gads, that thing is gaudy!" Then she wondered if that is the reaction her own nearly 20 year old dress would bring.

Another friend bought a used wedding gown off Craigslist last year at Halloween. She proceeded to cut it up, soil it, and apply fake blood for her corpse bride costume. I just can't accept that possible fate for my own lovely gown.

I began soliciting ideas for these old 80's-90's wedding gowns. Donating them is an option, but upon further research it seemed that most of the brides in need would prefer something a little more, ummm, modern. The particular era we're talking about here doesn't make them "vintage" quite yet either.

One friend suggested a tea party where we all wear our gowns. That would be a fantastic idea if I had half a chance of fitting into the thing. I was 118 lbs on my wedding day. Three pounds more than my goal weight at the time and several pounds less than my goal weight today. Yeah, that's not happening. But I'm guessing there would be a few others in the same predicament.

Another suggestion included donating it to the Children's Theater or any other theater group in town. My wedding dress in a play! That sounds better than it morphing into a corpse bride costume.

I thought a charity function of a sort could be fun. A Drag Queen Bridal Fashion Show with money raised going to some worthy cause. Finding small sized drag queens could pose a challenge, but I'm sure it's possible in this town.

At any rate, the Center for the Blind came by yesterday and picked up my eight or ten bags of goods. Not only my wedding gown, but also my mother's wedding gown (which is at least vintage-circa 1947) are still in the closet hogging up prime real estate. Suggestions are welcomed.

A Busy or Simply Satisfying Life?

The other day in my 'ESL Talk Time' session at the Seattle Public Library, we went around the room and said one word to describe the culture in the country we were born. My word was "busy". I remember feeling overwhelmingly busy in my pre-Europe days. I had something going on every night after work, i.e. working out, classes, meetings, a night out with the girls, paying bills, cleaning house, yard work, Thursday night grocery shopping before a busy weekend filled with social events, family commitments or home improvement projects. The busy schedule, while fun most of the time, also wore me out.

My lifestyle in Europe moved at a much slower pace. I didn't own a home, so no house projects or yard work called to me. I had a handful of friends and no family members so my social life was limited yet still full and rewarding. I spent many days alone exploring the parks and cobbled alleyways of the European cities I inhabited. Between teaching English classes, I would spend an hour or two sitting on a park bench writing, reading, or simply people watching, meeting a fellow teacher for coffee or just walking around discovering new shops or hidden gems. If there were several hours of downtime between classes, a mid-morning nap might have been in order. After all, European nightlife frequently spilled into the wee hours of the morning.

It wasn't long after coming back to Seattle, that my old, hectic, and overly stuffed lifestyle took up residence in my world again. Admittedly, I have a very difficult time saying no to invitations, or keeping my schedule limited to one commitment at a time. Overbooking too many things in one day usually results in me being late and, generally, just not 'being present'. I am working on that, however.

Amy Krouse Rosenthal said it best in her book "Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life".

"How have you been?"
"Busy.

"How's Work?"
"Busy."

"How was your week?"
"Good. Busy."

"You name the question, "Busy" is the answer. Yes, yes, I know we are all terribly busy doing terribly important things. But I think more often than not, "Busy" is simply the most acceptable knee-jerk response."

Amy is right. Every time someone steps into the elevator with me at the office and asks how I'm doing, I blurt out "busy" without even thinking. No one honestly cares how busy I am. They're all busy too. It's not a contest, but suddenly everyone is explaining just how busy they really are. And to be honest, most of my busy isn't anything compared to other people's busy. I don't have that house and yard to maintain, no children to raise and run to soccer games, no elderly or ailing parents.

Last Thursday marked the anniversary of my mother's passing away. I thought of her, as I do most every day. I thought about how she'd respond if she heard me moan about being so busy. This woman had six kids and a huge four bedroom house to keep up. She knew busy. All the lunches to pack, meals to cook, laundry, shopping, cleaning. It wasn't until some of the older ones moved out, that she had some well-deserved time to herself.

My busy is all self inflicted; going to local events, yoga, reading, writing, meeting friends, a show, play or concert, working late a few nights a week, my recently added volunteer night at the library, a class I choose to take, spending time with Mr. Wonderful. I do have a lot of interests, as well as interesting people in my life, and want to take it all in, but it's all by choice. So why should I answer "busy" with an exasperated sigh when someone asks how I am? I have resolved to, at the very least, come up with better adjectives like "active", "occupied", "on the go", "rewarded", or in the case of the question posed in the office elevator, "employed".