The Big Box By The Door

A few months back my truck was stolen from in front of my house. I had just come back from the cabin and there was a ton of stuff in the back as well as the regular car stuff. Now they did find the truck and it was cleaned right out. My car insurance pays for damage but no contents. They come under a separate claim through my home insurance. Oddly enough, the car seat in my truck was considered part of the vehicle. Now, insurance made me replace it with a new one that was exactly the same. And I was reimbursed. Here’s the thing. I don’t need it. It would have been better if I could buy 2 boosters instead. It would have been the same price, but no, we had to replace it with the exact one. So, I thought, well maybe I will exchange it at the store. Apparently, car seats are not allowed to be returned. Ever. Even if they were never taken out of the box. So I brought the car seat into the house and left it by the front door and sent the receipt off to the insurance company. Now that was a couple of months ago. And that big box with the car seat is still sitting by the front door. I now use it as a sort of end table. There’s a water bottle and a reusable grocery bag on top currently. The thing is, I don’t even see it. Apparently this is really common for people with ADHD. It is called clutter blindness. After awhile, that thing we put in an odd place, just belongs there. We are used to seeing it and it sort of just disappears into the landscape.

This summer, I managed to sand and stain both front and back decks in a fit of busy ness. However, the steps leading up to the front door and freshly stained deck just didn’t get done before I ran out of steam and got bored. And so, they look a little worn because the stain is pretty much gone and bare wood is all that shows. Now again, I don’t even see it. Awhile back my neighbour came for coffee and asked if I was going to get the stairs done this year. Well, I don’t know. Depends if I get another burst of energy before the snow flies. Oh! Too late. It already snowed. A lot. My neighbour had all of her outdoor furniture packed away or covered, her decks were cleaned, hot tub empty and she was ready for winter. I on the other hand am waiting for the weekend because the forecast is warmer weather. The snow is already melting so I will throw a tarp over my furniture, take a few cushions into the garage and poof, I will be done. The good news is, when I stained the deck in the back, all of the stuff had to be moved so there is a nice clear pathway to the hot tub. No tripping over stuff this winter. I also got bored with gardening, as I do in the fall, and stopped watering my pots. They are so dry now that there is zero possibility that they will crack due to freezing. Sometimes laziness brings great benefits and saves you money. By not buying new pots in the spring.

I grew up in a very cluttered home. My Mom was the ultimate hoarder. My hubby always thought I was the hoarder, but to be fair, he was the one who couldn’t get rid of things. I have a lot of stuff that as I age I realize I just don’t need. And yet I do get a great deal of pleasure just being in my home, surrounded by my books and music. Pictures on the wall that I took and framed. Memories really. But there is always a part of my home that is very much my Mom. I have plant hooks that have been in my ceiling for over 30 years. Yet I can’t remember the last time I had a hanging plant. The hook in the dining room has a Christmas door ornament with bells hanging down. It tinkles when the door opens and closes. Last year I had packed away all of the Christmas stuff before I remembered this thing. Rather than bring it to the garage and find the right storage container, I just hung if from the hook in the ceiling. To others coming into my home it probably seems odd but to me it is invisible. I don’t ever really see my home as others would. Because for me it is comfortable.

It reminds me so much of my Mom. After she passed away we were looking for this ring my Dad had made for her. It was an ugly thing but he “designed” it and she wore it on occasion. It wasn’t until my sister started to empty the kitchen cupboards as we started to pack away the dishes and cookware, that she found it. The cupboard door handles were pointy on the top and bottom and the ring was sitting on top of one of the handles. I never noticed it in all the times I visited my mom. I noticed the newspaper and magazine clippings slipped in the side of a picture frame. I noticed the plant cuttings in jars of water growing roots. On the fireplace mantle. I noticed the multiple empty shampoo bottles lined up under the bathroom sink when I looked for toilet paper. Which I eventually found in the bedroom closet. I noticed the multitude of odds and sods sitting on the floor of almost ever room. Pushed up against a wall out of the way but within sight. The piles of old magazines on the sewing table. I saw the clutter. But she didn’t. She saw the things she couldn’t part with but she wasn’t sure where they belonged. And so she placed them where she could seem them, even though in time she didn’t see them at all. I really get that. Once I put something in a safe place it will never be found when it is needed. Only after I have bought a new one or the usefulness is no longer useful.

Years ago my husband used to go to open houses in new communities. They were all staged by designers and were in fact perfect. He grew up in that atmosphere and in some ways it gave him a sense of calm. Nothing out of place. Everything matching. Both of his brothers married women who were raised by hoarders. Their houses were perfect. Just like their Moms. And yet, one brothers house was strangely cold and uncomfortable. It lacked the designer element. The rooms were large and the furniture was pushed up against walls making conversation impossible as people sat across from each other with that giant chasm of empty floor space between them. It was if they were getting ready for a dance party and everything was pushed out of the way so there was lots of floor space to dance. The other brother had a very matching perfectly laid out feel. But there was nothing personal in the space. No pictures of kids. No children’s artwork on the fridge. It was as if no one actually lived there. I remember my nephews bedroom. A twin bed with matching dresser. A lamp on the dresser and two pictures on the walls. All perfectly coordinated and show home ish. But again, devoid of any human occupation.

While my husband probably dreamed of a life of perfection, I think his childhood memories reminded him of the cost to live in the show home. Everything was for other people. The home. Its appearance. Even the occupants. Everything was for the show. What would people think? It was a grand stage set for a family, to play daily to a non existent audience. A just in case of company audience. Everyone and everything needed to be perfect. Everything that wasn’t perfect needed to be shoved away in a closet. Or perhaps in a box in the garage. Or just keep quiet if there was any kind of problem in the family. Secrets. Hide away any imperfection. Pretend. One of my husbands favourite sayings was “All sizzle, no steak”. It is a Facade. A face that is presented to the world. The sizzle leads you to believe there is something great to come. Sadly it is a lie. He knew what it took to constantly try and keep up the front that was put up for the world. The shame that even the smallest flaw brought into his heart.

And so, we lived in our tiny bungalow. Because it was in a community I refused to leave. All of the houses are tiny. Ours just a little more so. And he did his small part of presenting perfect to the world by shoving things into closets when company was coming. Hiding away clutter in places we couldn’t ever find it again. He learned to close the doors to our children’s rooms. Because at times they were truly scary. He continued his habits of hanging up his coat as soon as he came in the door. I currently have three jackets thrown across the back of the couch even though it is three feet farther from the door than the closet. He folded and hung work clothes away as soon as he came home. They cost money and he kept them nice. He organized his own life in the cluttered world of our marriage and our children. He kept his own hoarding neat and tidy even as closets and drawers bulged. In the end he developed a form of clutter blindness himself. But for him it wasn’t that he didn’t see the stuff. He finally came to a point in life where he learned the most important lessons. Our life is not to be lived for the scrutiny of others. Rather it is to be lived for the enjoyment of ourselves and our loved ones. Little did we know that his time would be cut short. But I believe there was something deep inside that knew and helped him drop away the facade and live for the day.

Sometimes I think I spend too much time on things that don’t matter. I think I should be out there conquering the world. I am running out of time. But then I think to myself, I am loving life. Doing what I enjoy. Even cleaning out the laundry room to make room for better access to my grow tent. It brings me a sense of accomplishment. It makes it easier to do one of the things I love. I don’t buy new stuff. I just move old stuff around and it makes it all feel new. Like the show home. My version. When my parents died I was saddled with so much of their clutter. As I worked through it I decided I didn’t want to leave that for my kids. But even as I pare down the things in my home, I know I will always have the clutter. Because I create it every day. But the good feelings I get from just small tasks gives me a dopamine rush like no other. And that’s part of the ADHD. I cleaned and emptied my hot tub and refilled it. The cold weather makes the heating time longer so last night as I slipped into the nice clean water I felt such a warmth flow through me. And in the next few days I will deliver that big box by the door to a young lady who needs it. I will feel such a sense of accomplishment and another rush as I clear away yet another piece of clutter. Part of me will miss that “table” by the door. But I have learned that there is always something that I don’t notice until I trip over it. Like that little box by the door. That needs to go back to the cable company. As soon as the postal strike is over. Its only been there for a month. I know if I put it away in a closet I’ll forget about it. So there it sits. Invisible. But not lost. And one day, I will mail it and I will be on a high for a week. I can’t wait.