2003-01-02 - 5:16 p.m.
DEFENDING SPACES
Vacation, and a visit to someone with cable television, introduced us to �Trading Spaces.� Being forced to be part of �Trading Spaces� has become my new nightmare. When your husband�s alter ego is �The Thing That Eats All Available (and Unavailable) Space,� the mere suggestion of any less control over space than I already have creates an internal Mt. St. Helens. Perhaps if the program were �Cleaning Spaces� I�d be more enthusiastic. Let someone else try to cope with THE OOZE that is Mr. Philately�s stuff.
At least he�s finally admitted there is a problem. Well, sort of. Like some of my clients, he isn�t exactly sorry he operates the way he does. He�s just sorry that others find it upsetting. His admissions are not exactly a sound basis for the beginning of any 12-step program. Heck, I don�t think he�s even amenable to taking two steps. The most he could do was say that he understood why I was hesitent to give him even a small corner of my closet (although he may have the top shelf because I can�t reach it anyway.)
Once, I believed I could organize my way out of the morass. I forgot a fundamental truth about junk. Junk grows. For me, a person who prefers order, junk grows to fill the space allotted. That�s why I use a small purse. For Mr. Philately, junk grows to fill the space allotted and then some. He does have some limits but finding the dining room table would take a very highly trained search team and months of preparation.
I�ve cleared closets and shelves and nooks and crannies to help him have a place for everything. His collections gobble up those closets and shelves and nooks and crannies for supper and go looking for dessert. He not only collects stamps (and pamphlets and coins and pictures and whatever); he also collects magazines and newspapers about stamps (and pamphlets and coins and pictures and whatever). If he could figure out how to capture his thoughts about stamps (and pamphlets and coins and pictures and whatever), he�d collect them too.
This past week, I helped Day-Hay re-organize the stuff in her room and tame the junk that had accumulated. I even managed to help Kat tame the junk enough that she agreed I could get rid of the Polly Pockets she long ago outgrew. But my room still looms. I don�t need to fear a bogeyman in the dark. Mr. Philately�s stash of boxes and piles all over our room is the bogeyman in the dark. If I ever disappear, I hope some loyal reader (hey, there must be at least one out there) cares enough to check under the mess. Some people keep guns under their pillows for safety and security. I�m considering stashing a straw there so that I can use it to get oxygen in an emergency.
Maybe what I need is to be on �While You Were Out.� In that show, another one I discovered in the interminable television-watching that occurred on vacation, a friend or relative redecorates a space while its owner is gone. The idea is to create a well-loved space. If I did it to him----well, one of us would love the space.
I feel like I�m drowning. But don�t worry. I hear that page protectors can be used as a flotation device.
LAST YEAR: Scrabble
LAST FIVE ENTRIES:
Not One-Size-Fits-All
Forget the Suitcase
Routine
Cry for Me, Argentina
Hot Water
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
