Here’s my question. When do ‘cute little quirks’ stop being
cute, and turn into full-blown middle-aged madness.
Yesterday I saw it in my Wingman’s eyes as he watched me
prune a bush. There was neither judgement nor amusement, just the look of
someone who had realised I probably shouldn’t be allowed to
use a pair of pruning sheers.
My cute little quirk (problem) is that I hate stuff. I don’t
think that there’s a name for people like me, but I consider myself to be an
anti-hoarder, or the opposite of a packrat. I’m not nearly interesting enough
to have my own reality sho, but it’s becoming a bit of an issue.
I can’t bear to have any non-essentials getting in my way.
That goes for furniture, clothes, house wares, files, guests, make-up, words,
and body hair. The only thing I like in excess is food and wine, and that’s
because it’s temporary. Vacuuming? I can’t get enough of it. Same goes for weeding, getting unused contacts off my phone, and clipping my nails. If I can make it dissappear - I will!
It was sort of quirky and adorable when I had my first
apartment. My friends would laugh about my minimalist approach to furnishing and
the boxes of books I used as side table for almost a decade. Fast forward twenty years, and my closet only has 36’ of hanging clothes. I can’t stand having clothing that hangs
there for absolutely no reason. When I stop loving something, it has to
go. I also have a permanent
donation bag on the go for the moment when something suddenly becomes
loathsome. Every day is potential purge-o-rama.
I am particularly intolerant of anything that looks
medical-y or bandage-y, and recently tore the house apart like a lunatic determined
to get rid of reminders of illness. (This is slightly illogical since I have
nipples coming up – but I’m anticipating a low maintenance recovery).
Buddha, and formerly round bush |
At any point poor Jim might come home with a new something-or-other and place it timidly in front of me. We both look at it. ‘Can you stand having it here?’ he asks. We look at each other and I counter with, ‘Do we need it?’ There is an uncomfortable
silence as we each explore our levels of agitation. And 8/10 times it goes back out the door. To me, the most
beautiful sight in the world is a bare table, though flowers are okay.
This weekend I was enjoying cleaning up the small front
garden. We have a jolly round yellow bush the size of a five year old, which had
taken a beating over the winter. It was bulgy and misshapen and was leaning on
my little Buddha. So I began my first foray into topiary. I cut of a few
branches. And I cut of a few more. Delighted by the debulging, I turned
into Edward Scissorhands and began attacking the little bush in frenzy of blurred
blades. Every snip was wildly satisfying!
I was so happy I could barely breath.
I was diving in for a final cut when a shadow fell over the
bush and I looked up to see Jim standing over me. He stood for a moment with
his hands on his hips. He looked at the once chubby bush, and I knew that what
I had done no longer adorable. I’d crossed into madness territory, feeling thrilled
and guilty all at the same time. Jim looked at me as one might look at a child who’d just
rubbed a bottle of ketchup into their hair.
‘Uh oh,’ he said, gently wrestling the sheers from my hands,
‘No more pruning for you.’
the yellow bush is a variegated euonymus (or is that too much information to hold on to?). The good thing about information is there is ALWAYS room for more in the old brain. I walked my mother's garden with her the other day (one of her favourite things to do with me) and surprisingly, over the years I have learned the names of about 95% of what is there (and she just had an article about her garden written in the May newsletter of the garden club she belongs to!). The plant to the left, if you don't know already, is a hosta. Enjoy your garden, don't prune too much - it will grow back anyway!
ReplyDeleteXO
PS - nice to see a new posting - I've missed you!