ROOM FOR A PONY

Exploring what life could be like if we weren’t buried in clutter, burdened with too many possessions, and surrounded by chaos.

ROOM FOR A PONY header image 1

Great Depression still blamed for Depressing Amounts of Junk

May 23rd, 2013 · Uncategorized

Raise your hand if your grandparents’ hoardish habits were excused by the fact that “They grew up during the Depression, honey. They had to save every piece of string and scrap of cloth.”

That was the reason given for why Grandma traveled with enough supplies to outfit a refugee camp, why she cleaned the plane out of all the plastic flatware and extra packs of salt and pepper and peanuts, harvested the soaps from hotel bathrooms, and for several decades rented a storage unit somewhere in far away New Mexico whose contents she reminisced about in dreamy tones.

Recently a friend and I were commiserating about having too much junk. Now this is a guy in his late thirties. But he actually said these words: “See, my grandparents lived through the Depression and as a result I have this tendency to hold on to things.”

Uh. No. I am so sorry. We may no longer blame the Great Depression for our packrat habits.

Maybe our parents could blame their parents, who could in turn blame the Depression. But even our parents don’t get to use that as an excuse for the junk they acquired themselves.

Fun Fact: The Great Depression of the 1930s is not the reason we have too much junk.

Let us look inward.

 

→ No CommentsTags:

Where to take clothes too old and worn to give away

May 16th, 2013 · Cloth, Clothing & Apparel, Re-using

Yes, of course we give our slightly used clothes to the thrift shops, but MY old clothes have had a very thorough life.

I only wear clothes that I love, and after many mendings they are eventually pronounced dead by a certain person who is really tired of looking at them, and mending them. And then I can’t even give them to the used clothing stores because surprise, no one wants clothes this raggedy. So I’ve had to throw them away! which feels like I’m throwing a dear friend into the trash. I can’t bear it. So Lindi has to do that for me too, at some tactfully chosen moment when I’m not watching.

But wait! I’ve just found out there’s a better fate for them! They can be made into fabulously useful RAGS! Then they can truly be re-used, down to their last gasping thread.

The place to take them here in Portland is the Pioneer Wiping Cloth Company at 10707 N.Lombard Street.

As to what they will accept: anything that can be made into a rag.  Apply this test question: Is the item made of an absorbent fabric?

They don’t want your spandex. Or your underwear. Or your silk or nylon anything. And no socks.

They take cotton and knits, like T-shirts and sweats, in addition to sheets and towels and blankets. Knowledge of the exact fiber content isn’t necessary. They can tell by feel whether it would work as a rag or not.

Good to know that if I have to give up my clothes, at least they can serve my country as a batch of rags before their final demise.

Exhibit A: This shirt has been on its deathbed for months. All its edges are shredded. But I’m in love. I’m not giving it up without a funeral.

 

→ No CommentsTags:······

What about the problem of too many clothes?

May 10th, 2013 · brain theory, Consumer Issues

Uh oh. I may have just come up against the limitations of my decluttering blog. I actually don’t have this problem, so I don’t know if I can be of any help in this area.

I could tell you that I keep my wardrobe under control by being frugal and organized, and claim to be all zen and everything like that, but in truth, the only reason I am successful in the area of wardrobe control is because the clothing lobe of my brain is really small. (The pen and pencil lobes are much, much larger.) [see Fig.A]

Fig. A: Note the limited size of the lobe designated to apparel.

I have discovered that once I reach a certain critical mass of clothing items, they will sit there unworn while I forget I have them. Any garment that doesn’t fit into my field of vision at a single glance will not be making its way onto my body.

Trying to figure out what to wear is the most stressful part of my day. I want to look reasonably good, but I don’t want to deal with it. Therefore I own just a few items of apparel that all sort of go together that I mix and match.

Unfortunately, I am unequipped to advise on how to fight back the urge to shop. My entering a clothing store is an event that can only come about with the assistance of a team of coaches — one to drive me to the location, one to open the door, one to push me inside, a couple more to run around and fetch me things and bring them to me to try on in the awful little room of mirrors. If I didn’t have Lindi and some nieces, I’d be down to a pair of mismatched pajamas with holes by now.

Oh well. At least here’s one area of life in which I’m not a greedy pig.

→ No CommentsTags:

Spontaneous Post-Carnage Shrines: Dead flowers and wet teddy bears

May 2nd, 2013 · Decluttering, Disposability

I’ve become so obsessed with the waste stream that even in the midst of tragedies, my mind goes to to the garbage issues. By now the explosion debris at the Boston Marathon has been cleaned up, but I always wonder: what about these mountainous offerings of flowers and stuffed animals that accumulate in the outpouring of grief and support? People need to do something. And yet…. then what? 

Eventually it has to be dismantled. I wonder who gets stuck with the odious task of taking away all the mementoes? What becomes of them all? And who wants to be the unpopular person deciding when it’s time?

Do it too soon and the mourners feel slighted; too late, and it morphs into a pile of soggy rubbish. Which choice looks more disrespectful? Clearing it away, or leaving an increasingly ugly pile of weather-ruined stuffed animals among the rotting remains of dead flowers?

If it were just the flowers, they could be separated from their non-recyclable  cellophane wrappings and composted. But the stuffed animals, made up of synthetic materials, will have to be taken to the landfill, along with all the crinkly cellophane.

I don’t have a good answer for this stuffed animal tradition which has sprung up in recent times. I think we’re stuck with it unless it fades out over the years and people find another way. What are you going to do, put up a sign at a shrine site saying “no teddy bears”?Even posting about this is probably going to get me nominated for the Scrooge award.

PS: If anyone sees anything on this, do send me a link via the comment box.

→ No CommentsTags:··············

Aftermath of Tragedy: explosions, shootings, storms, & floods

April 24th, 2013 · Decluttering, Philosophy

It seemed inappropriate to write about clutter with that whole bombing thing going on in Boston. I was watching and re-watching the videos just like everyone else. Maybe not just like everyone else — I’m not sure. After a point, I made myself stop.

I think for a while we do it because we just can’t believe it, and we’re trying to digest what happened. But if we keep on endlessly, now we’re getting morbid. Like picking at a scab. Stop it! Time to do something constructive — how about getting rid of some of the detritus that has exploded out of our junky society and landed in our houses?

Having junk around makes me feel like I’m in a rubber raft trying to escape from a flood but I can’t get anywhere because I’m trapped on all sides by the flotsam. Nor can I help anyone else — both raft and self are rendered useless.

It so happens that I came down with a bad cold right when the Boston explosions happened. After the initial two or three days of comatose behavior, I started on small decluttering projects for short spurts of time till I wore out. Then I’d crash for a nap, and wake up and start again. It was the only thing I felt capable of doing. I may have gotten more clearing done in this last week than I have in the past year. Maybe my subconscious self was getting rid of the illness inside my body by ejecting everything in sight.  Lindi said, “You should get sick more often.”

I’m almost well now, and I love these clear surfaces! Away with piles screaming at me about undone tasks! (I’ll try to stick a before and after picture in later on. gotta go.)

Back to the bombing aftermath: A question always nags me after these things, and I wonder if I’m alone. At the risk of being too verbose, I’ll address it in my next post.

→ No CommentsTags:····

Persistent Pen Envy

April 5th, 2013 · Collecting, Excess of Possessions

Are you sick of the pen topic? I know I am. I still want them, though. New pens, vintage pens, other people’s pens…… but I’m not giving in these days. I just drool inwardly and keep moving.

I’m looking for a good pen therapist. because as I’m getting rid of all these pens — which has been really hard — I’m realizing that i have a serious phobia about being caught without a pen. Suppose someone commits a heinous crime and jumps into a car and I’m standing right there and I don’t have anything to jot down the license plate number with and they get away scot-free? My one shot at heroism, vanished. The only use I can ever hope to be in such a crisis, indeed one of the few things I’ve been good for in the world — moving a pen across paper — all for naught.

Recently there was an “incident” at work — there was yelling and thumping and I knew it was coming from Mr. Problem, who’d just walked by. I feared it was a crisis-in-progress. I tried to dial 911 but couldn’t remember the number. Or how to operate a telephone. Had there been a license plate number to write down, I know I could’ve executed that task. For that, I’m prepared.

You’ve seen the pens I accumulated in my home. I also carry many pens with me wherever I go. I am way beyond pocket protector. At work, where one’s space and accoutrements are often perceived as communal, I’ve resorted to a tool belt.

See? There’s no way I would’ve failed to grab a pen, had there been something to write down. And in the back panel of that tool belt are stashed multiple blank cards — the backs off of small tablets that we plow through at work, that I tuck in there for just such an occasion.

In case you’re wondering how the above scenario played out, it turned out that calling 911 was not the thing to do anyway.

“We never call 911 for him,” said my boss.

Apparently he’s just business as usual. We save 911 for the seriously scary. Who knew? He sounded scary to me.

→ 4 CommentsTags:·

Collectivitis combined with the ecological mindset

March 18th, 2013 · Collecting, Consumer Issues, Disposability, Philosophy, The Packrat Mind, Trash Disposal

You might think it’s dumb that I write about things like pen caps and sock hangers — but that would mean you were missing my larger purpose. My assignment (call it a compulsion if you must) is to scrutinize each and every little item and ask the big questions — go all the way back to its source, examine its life, and predict its eventual destination.

The real issue is disposability and waste. Why do we manufacture all this disposable stuff out of the petroleum that we’re running out of? Why do we march out like sheep and buy it? And why aren’t we worried?

Where do we think all this stuff is going, people? To the landfills, that’s where.

So don’t look at ME and make swirly motions toward your head with your index finger.

What, just because I’m unwilling to throw things away willy-nilly, I’m crazy? Just because it hurts me to see something used exactly one time, and then thrown in the garbage? Ow!

My innate sense of order (and I do have one) prevents me from collecting everything that I see, piling it onto a shopping cart, and combing the streets for more (i.e., hoarding). Collectivitis works differently — Instead I’ll choose one seemingly random item that comes my way with some frequency, and squirrel it away — gradually amassing it in large numbers. Collectivitis is the compulsion to acquire multiples of a certain item.

“One of these alone seems so useless,” my eco-logic goes, “but surely if I had dozens I could find some role for them in the world.”

Look at these cute empty matchboxes I just found in a drawer. I’m not sure how they got there — though I do go through a lot of candles, and it’s not too likely that Lindi put them there. [Note to elf: Quit trying to get me in trouble!] But they could easily be used as carrying cases for insects collected by school children on a science field trip. I’m going to donate them to SCRAP and surely some teacher will buy them. As I was saying before, it’s a good thing there are many, since one would be useless.

And by the way, if you doubt the sense of order that I claim, you might note that I keep my sock monkey in my sock drawer. How much more orderly can I get?

→ 1 CommentTags:··········

From whence the drive to collect?

March 14th, 2013 · Collecting, Excess of Possessions, Hoarding, Packratting, Philosophy, The Packrat Mind

I admit i have a bit of a “thing” about collecting. There’s a-whole-nother category that lies somewhere between packratness and hoarderliness, and I’m in it.  The people in this category are called “collectors” instead of packrats or hoarders because they collect things in a systematic, purposeful and orderly way, display their collections in a proud and dignified manner, and often spend a lot of money on them. They are driven by something they all have in common, a condition I’m hereby naming collectivitis.

(Note that I’m not bailing out of admitting I’m a packrat. I overlap in both categories. If you recall, I explained earlier why I don’t place myself in the hoarder category.)

My earliest memories of these urges are from when I was eleven and began to collect bottle caps. I amassed shoeboxes full of them. Precociously, I recognized way back then that if I was going to indulge this compulsion, I’d better pick something small (we moved a lot) and cheap (my income was …. an occasional peanut). For that I deserve a TON of credit — which, by the way, I never get.

Certain people, such as the one I live with, might express a little gratitude once in a while that at least I’m not like a guy I used to know who collected office machinery — and I don’t mean staplers. I mean xerox machines and the like. Besides the money he doled out for them, he had to rent a warehouse for their storage. His wife resented it horribly.

how would you like a warehouse full of THESE?

In light of that, How can you really find fault with pen caps and sock hangers?

But never mind. I’m over it. For my own clarity of thinking, I’m taking the brave step of purging these collections from my environment. Fortunately I don’t have to throw them away. I can give them to SCRAP, which makes it a lot more bearable. There they’ll capture the heart of some other loon, and be adopted forthwith — thereby assuaging my abandonment guilt.

I realize this new, emancipated Self means that from now on, whenever I find a pen cap, or acquire a sock hanger, I’ll be tossing those babies right into the rigid plastics recycling bin in our garage. I’ve been mentally practicing doing this, and I’m fine with it.

Years ago I got rid of my huge collection of tiny tasting spoons (see blog banner, above) and now, in my new incarnation, after tasting something at the deli I toss the spoon ruthlessly into their recycling bin, with a debonair, nonchalant “Off with its head!”

See? People can change.

→ No CommentsTags:····

The Pulitzer Prize for packaging goes to…..

March 9th, 2013 · Uncategorized

… the person who invented sock hangers. The way that socks are packaged and displayed should be held up as a model to the manufacturing industries of the world. A simple extruded bead of plastic in combination with a paper, adhesive-backed label does the job.

And if you think they all look alike, your observation skills need serious polishing.

I was always planning to mount them on a big panel of wine-red velvet, with their date of issue on little brass plaques under each one, and frame them in an ornate gold plastic cornice. No doubt I’d be in MOMA by now if I had. Fact is, I’ve never gotten around to it. Should I “hang on” for that rainy day? Well, considering that I live in Oregon where it rains most days and still haven’t done it, maybe I should let go. Let someone else have the glory.

Some of you might find this even more absurd than collecting pen caps. Go ahead and laugh! I’ve got the whole history of the sock-display industry right in the palms of my hands.

You have to admit, it is kind of fascinating. Notice the different shapes — some of them curving elegantly, others unceremoniously doing the job with blunt utilitarianism.

And honestly, as a method of packaging, how much more efficient can you get? That’s the most important part, in this Golden Age of Shamelessly Wasteful Packaging.

As for the mysterious aspects of collecting in general, I’ll have more to say about that in my next post.

→ No CommentsTags:

Just how sick am I, exactly?

March 7th, 2013 · Uncategorized

This is my pen cap collection.

It lives in a can labeled “pen cap orphanage.”

One (1) can. Just one. One can, but many pen caps. At least I don’t have packing crates filled with them — yet. And I’m not going to let that happen, either.

But first: I know you’re wondering about the big Y of it. Well, it’s because I find it disturbing when pens are left without their caps. So I save loose pen caps that I find, with the idea that I’ll always have a replacement cap at the ready. But of course, my own pens are never without their caps. Ever.

The pens without caps are elsewhere, in the hands of inconsiderate users who don’t even think about these things. I would never even be friends with someone like that, let alone invite them into my house. Therefore a pen cap orphanage in my home is useless. I’m just now realizing that. It may seem obvious to you, but to me it’s an epiphany.

Where I work there’s someone who goes around taking off all the pen caps as a matter of routine. [And I’m the sick one?] No one knows who it is. Some day that person will be lost in the desert and die a long slow death of dehydration and see what it’s like.

Meanwhile I’m transferring my orphanage to my workplace, where it’s certain to be useful. I’ve made it a point to obtain almost every color and size of pen cap ever made so I’ll be able to rescue any type of pen.

If I were a known conceptual artist, I could get no end of recognition for my kindness, but since I’m not, my mental health is called into question.

The next item I’m going to post about, however, might make pen caps look really sensible.

→ 2 CommentsTags: