We've just spent a long weekend being snowbound, as with an all-time record-breaking flourish, Snowstorm Evelyn bestowed upon us an epic amount of the white stuff, rough estimates around 29 inches in two days, breaking 128+ year records.
The excitement started Friday with a few claps of thunder and rain on and off all day. The meterologists were abuzz with excitement, we were all supposed to dust off our recently stowed snow shovels, look out, here comes Evelyn! And yes, I will admit, they were right.
By Saturday afternoon, we had over 15 inches of snow and we weren't going anywhere anytime soon. I had been in town on Friday morning when I visited Carl's parents at the nursing home and I'd debated stopping at the grocery store, but decided against it because it was raining and I was lazy.
I should have heeded the nagging little voice in my head (and the louder ones on the car stereo) urging me to take this storm seriously. But, I didn't. And thanks to me, we had no toast all weekend. (I know, oh, the humanity! And I really shouldn't be eating much bread, anyway, so there. I had an enforced diet.)
I have to admit I am so glad we decided not to put up the greenhouse this year for the first time since 1995. Normally, by March we would have dug the greenhouse out of the machine shed and I'd have annuals of all sorts growing, but this year, we decided against it because we were going to get an early start on our garden construction projects instead. Ha. Best laid plans of mice and men...
Right about now, it is very hard to believe the garden should have drifts of petunias in a few short weeks.
Since we were going to be snowed in for two full days, Carl and I took advantage of the time on our hands and decided to clean out the hall closet. Yes, we really know how to have fun here, don't we? (Hey, it beats going bonkers and coming down with cabin fever; at least no one was wielding an ax and hollering, "He-e-r-r-e-'s JOHNNY!!")
I recently joined a decluttering support group on social media and being inspired by the members and their success stories, I thought it was time we tackle the hall closet, our biggest and baddest closet of all. Lurking in this 5' x 2' space was an amazing collection of gloves. And I mean amazing. We had piles and piles of gloves of all kinds lying on the kitchen floor in semi-organized groups; brown jersey gloves, nitrile coated gardening gloves, leather gloves, rubber gloves, and finally, warm winter gloves. After getting all of the gloves into their various categories, we tackled the right-hand, left-hand pairs dilemma.
Apparently, both Carl and I are only left-handed people. We were stunned by the amount of left-handed gloves with no right-handed counterparts. I suppose the right-handed gloves must have gone on an adventure with the mates to the socks we never can seem to find, too.
A few weeks ago, a dear friend of ours told me about a book about the life-changing magic of decluttering. I haven't had time to look into a copy, but I did read some online reviews. The gist of the tidying process is to take all of your clothes from wherever they are in your home and make a pile of them in one place and then, one item at a time, decide whether the item in question brings you joy or not. If it does not bring you joy, it is to be discarded, donated, whatever you need to do to remove it from your home.
Well, that's essentially what we did with the gloves, and for the most part, it worked. The only thing I had some trouble with was the author's assertion about inanimate objects having 'feelings' per se, as in, 'Don't roll up your socks into balls, do you think they can rest in that position? They've already done so much for you being on your feet all day. Store them so they can rest easily.'
I'm not sure if that is taken word for word from the book, but I did see it pop up in several reviewer's critiques. And something about emptying out your purse at night and letting it rest after working hard all day lugging around my junk.
Well......
The problem with this philosophy of thanking my items for their 'work' and giving them 'feelings' brings Carl and I full-circle back into the problems we both have (though mostly Carl) with keeping almost everything to the point of hoarding.
Carl freely admits he has a problem in his workspaces in the basement and most alarmingly, his shed(s), which I not-so-nicely refer to as the SOS buildings. (Which stands for Sheds O' S#$t.) I know, that's no way to be supportive of my spouse. But, well, you'd have to see it. No, on second thought, no one should see it...in almost forty years of marriage, I can honestly say the junk has been the only problem we have ever had. And it's a big one, because, let's face it, one person's junk does affect the entire household, just like any other addiction.
And then we have my problems with 'things'; ever since childhood, I have had a bad habit of giving inanimate objects 'feelings'. I don't know when it started, but I suspect it has a lot to do with a rather violent upbringing and wanting to protect helpless things from destruction. (Long story, too painful to tell, so I'll spare us all the grief.)
For instance, when I was little, I could not bring myself to eat my chocolate Easter bunny because, well, it was a bunny and it had a happy little face and bright eyes and a little bow around its neck. How could I bring myself to destroy it? It was so cute!
I remember my father becoming angry with me because I wasn't like normal kids who would have had the confection gone in a matter of hours; instead mine sat in the refrigerator awaiting its demise for months on end.
One Sunday summer afternoon, Dad decided enough was enough. He'd gone into the refrigerator to retrieve his pack of cigarettes and saw the Easter rabbit sitting on the shelf. He sat me down at the kitchen table and demanded that I eat my bunny. Oh, dear. I sat there and tried not to cry; treacherous tears always got me in more trouble, but no matter how diligently I tried to stem their flow, flow they did, followed by great, gulping sobs.
"Well, I have never seen anything like you!" Dad said, probably truly worried about my mental health. "C'mon, for godsakes, just eat the damn thing!"
Since I sat there helplessly blubbering, he grabbed a cutting board and a butcher knife and whacked off the chocolate bunny's ears, thrust them at me and hollered, "Here, eat it!"
I'll never forget the taste of chocolate mixed with salty tears. It was a dreadful combination. I did my best to try to eat the bunny, but I failed miserably. Dad was disgusted with me. (Too bad this didn't put me off of chocolate for the rest of my life; I still do love chocolate, just not in cute shapes.)
So, by anthropomorphizing inanimate objects (socks! purses!) both Carl and I would be in a whole heap of more trouble. The last thing either of us needs is to feel sorry for everything we have that would be discarded by normal people. But we're not normal. Yes, we know it.
Still, Carl was making impressive strides this weekend. In the past, he would have saved every leather glove he had (he gets them from work's trash cans when his coworkers toss them out after getting a hole in them somewhere.) He had plans to cut the holey gloves into circles and make a hammer handle with stacks of circles (to tell the truth, there would be no landfills if Carl ran the world, he can find an alternate use for just about anything. Except cigarette butts, I don't think he could find a use for them...) but after two days of sorting through gloves, Carl decided the really worthless ones could go into the trash can. Success!
Carl says he doesn't give inanimate objects feelings. His problem is he can't stand to waste anything and feels he can make something out of nothing (which, in his defense, he can and has; case in point, the dome:
The dome was made from a combination of recycled copper sheeting and reclaimed steel pipe with the addition of aluminum castings. What was once a pile of scrap metals turned out very well. The problem is, Carl has so many ideas and so many raw materials that even he knows he will not live long enough to create everything he wants to do.
He sees something of value in everything. And yes, it is hoarding. The same bitter tears I shed while being force-fed my Easter bunny have been shed while trying to come to terms with the piles of stuff he has around here.
Since we've both turned sixty, though, even Carl is starting to think a little differently. What sounded so hopeful in the past, as in, 'Some day I want to do ___________ with this," has now come down to, "How much time do I really have left to do these projects; in twenty years, if we're blessed to live that long, we'd be eighty."
Yes, the passage of time does change things, and I think Carl is feeling his mortality. Will there be a huge purge of everything we own overnight? Probably not. But as one member of the support group said, "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time." (Which also did work for the Easter bunny from fifty years ago, I did eat it, one bittersweet bite at a time.)
And as the snow piled up outside, so did our garbage bags in the house. We got so lost in the process of discarding and sorting that we were both stunned when we looked out the back door around 5PM Sunday night.
Whoa, that truly is a lot of snow.
By evening the snow had slowed down considerably and the woods across the road had ceased to roar with the onslaught of high winds. Time to put on our winter gear (and use some of those dang gloves!) and venture out into the snow-pocalypse.
Carl broke trail for me. We debated skiing, but the snow was very sticky, making it impossible. We had to get to the tractor (remember, silly me took the snow blower off in March) and the only way to get to Mom's house was to walk.
The town had plowed several times during the blizzard, which was such a change from my childhood. When I was a kid fifty years ago, we were stranded every winter for several days as only the highways were tended to. If you lived on a side road, you learned to wait. (Or use your farm tractor to get yourself out.)
We made it to the road and trudged along. It really did feel good to be outside after almost 48 hours even with the biting wind and still-pelting snow.
We both gave thanks for the tractor; shoveling this much snow would have taken us days.
When we arrived at Mom's house, I was stunned. I have never seen that much snow in the yard. Ever.
Just as Carl and I arrived at Mom's house, Joel called to ask how the digging out was going and that he was on his way to help. I was worried about the roads; everyone was told to stay off of them unless it was an emergency. But there were a few cars now and then on the highway in the distance, so the world was starting to come back to life.
In the meantime, Carl and I put the blower back on the tractor and got started.
By the time Joel arrived, Carl had made one pass down the middle of Mom's driveway. Joel took over and did our yard and then we followed him over to Carl's parent's home to take on the mess there, too. The normally busy highway was down to only a handful of cars, everything was glare ice underneath. We were glad there was no traffic on the two mile drive.
Luckily, Carl's parent's yard was not as bad as our two previous ones had been.
When we got back to Mom's house with the tractor, Joel posed for a picture with the snowbanks. (Joel's well over six feet tall.)
We didn't do a complete removal of all the snow, after all, this is April, and it won't last forever (and we were running short on gasoline.)
All in all, it was an interestingly productive weekend; we tackled projects we normally wouldn't have and gained ourselves some useful space. There may be hope for us yet.
I'm hoping that someday soon, Carl and I will be able to conquer the piles of stuff and come to a happy compromise. It's all about attitude, really.
And setting the junk free also sets us free. Things don't have feelings, but boy, oh boy, people sure do.
Our takeaway reminder: How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.
 |
| There's a driveway in there somewhere.... |
I should have heeded the nagging little voice in my head (and the louder ones on the car stereo) urging me to take this storm seriously. But, I didn't. And thanks to me, we had no toast all weekend. (I know, oh, the humanity! And I really shouldn't be eating much bread, anyway, so there. I had an enforced diet.)
I have to admit I am so glad we decided not to put up the greenhouse this year for the first time since 1995. Normally, by March we would have dug the greenhouse out of the machine shed and I'd have annuals of all sorts growing, but this year, we decided against it because we were going to get an early start on our garden construction projects instead. Ha. Best laid plans of mice and men...
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| Driveway in July 2017 |
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| Driveway tonight April 15, 2018 |
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| Mountains of Petunias in July |
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| Mountains of Snow in April |
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| Carl, wading out to the road on Sunday afternoon |
I recently joined a decluttering support group on social media and being inspired by the members and their success stories, I thought it was time we tackle the hall closet, our biggest and baddest closet of all. Lurking in this 5' x 2' space was an amazing collection of gloves. And I mean amazing. We had piles and piles of gloves of all kinds lying on the kitchen floor in semi-organized groups; brown jersey gloves, nitrile coated gardening gloves, leather gloves, rubber gloves, and finally, warm winter gloves. After getting all of the gloves into their various categories, we tackled the right-hand, left-hand pairs dilemma.
Apparently, both Carl and I are only left-handed people. We were stunned by the amount of left-handed gloves with no right-handed counterparts. I suppose the right-handed gloves must have gone on an adventure with the mates to the socks we never can seem to find, too.
A few weeks ago, a dear friend of ours told me about a book about the life-changing magic of decluttering. I haven't had time to look into a copy, but I did read some online reviews. The gist of the tidying process is to take all of your clothes from wherever they are in your home and make a pile of them in one place and then, one item at a time, decide whether the item in question brings you joy or not. If it does not bring you joy, it is to be discarded, donated, whatever you need to do to remove it from your home.
Well, that's essentially what we did with the gloves, and for the most part, it worked. The only thing I had some trouble with was the author's assertion about inanimate objects having 'feelings' per se, as in, 'Don't roll up your socks into balls, do you think they can rest in that position? They've already done so much for you being on your feet all day. Store them so they can rest easily.'
I'm not sure if that is taken word for word from the book, but I did see it pop up in several reviewer's critiques. And something about emptying out your purse at night and letting it rest after working hard all day lugging around my junk.
Well......
The problem with this philosophy of thanking my items for their 'work' and giving them 'feelings' brings Carl and I full-circle back into the problems we both have (though mostly Carl) with keeping almost everything to the point of hoarding.
Carl freely admits he has a problem in his workspaces in the basement and most alarmingly, his shed(s), which I not-so-nicely refer to as the SOS buildings. (Which stands for Sheds O' S#$t.) I know, that's no way to be supportive of my spouse. But, well, you'd have to see it. No, on second thought, no one should see it...in almost forty years of marriage, I can honestly say the junk has been the only problem we have ever had. And it's a big one, because, let's face it, one person's junk does affect the entire household, just like any other addiction.
And then we have my problems with 'things'; ever since childhood, I have had a bad habit of giving inanimate objects 'feelings'. I don't know when it started, but I suspect it has a lot to do with a rather violent upbringing and wanting to protect helpless things from destruction. (Long story, too painful to tell, so I'll spare us all the grief.)
For instance, when I was little, I could not bring myself to eat my chocolate Easter bunny because, well, it was a bunny and it had a happy little face and bright eyes and a little bow around its neck. How could I bring myself to destroy it? It was so cute!
I remember my father becoming angry with me because I wasn't like normal kids who would have had the confection gone in a matter of hours; instead mine sat in the refrigerator awaiting its demise for months on end.
One Sunday summer afternoon, Dad decided enough was enough. He'd gone into the refrigerator to retrieve his pack of cigarettes and saw the Easter rabbit sitting on the shelf. He sat me down at the kitchen table and demanded that I eat my bunny. Oh, dear. I sat there and tried not to cry; treacherous tears always got me in more trouble, but no matter how diligently I tried to stem their flow, flow they did, followed by great, gulping sobs.
"Well, I have never seen anything like you!" Dad said, probably truly worried about my mental health. "C'mon, for godsakes, just eat the damn thing!"
Since I sat there helplessly blubbering, he grabbed a cutting board and a butcher knife and whacked off the chocolate bunny's ears, thrust them at me and hollered, "Here, eat it!"
I'll never forget the taste of chocolate mixed with salty tears. It was a dreadful combination. I did my best to try to eat the bunny, but I failed miserably. Dad was disgusted with me. (Too bad this didn't put me off of chocolate for the rest of my life; I still do love chocolate, just not in cute shapes.)
So, by anthropomorphizing inanimate objects (socks! purses!) both Carl and I would be in a whole heap of more trouble. The last thing either of us needs is to feel sorry for everything we have that would be discarded by normal people. But we're not normal. Yes, we know it.
Still, Carl was making impressive strides this weekend. In the past, he would have saved every leather glove he had (he gets them from work's trash cans when his coworkers toss them out after getting a hole in them somewhere.) He had plans to cut the holey gloves into circles and make a hammer handle with stacks of circles (to tell the truth, there would be no landfills if Carl ran the world, he can find an alternate use for just about anything. Except cigarette butts, I don't think he could find a use for them...) but after two days of sorting through gloves, Carl decided the really worthless ones could go into the trash can. Success!
Carl says he doesn't give inanimate objects feelings. His problem is he can't stand to waste anything and feels he can make something out of nothing (which, in his defense, he can and has; case in point, the dome:
The dome was made from a combination of recycled copper sheeting and reclaimed steel pipe with the addition of aluminum castings. What was once a pile of scrap metals turned out very well. The problem is, Carl has so many ideas and so many raw materials that even he knows he will not live long enough to create everything he wants to do.
He sees something of value in everything. And yes, it is hoarding. The same bitter tears I shed while being force-fed my Easter bunny have been shed while trying to come to terms with the piles of stuff he has around here.
Since we've both turned sixty, though, even Carl is starting to think a little differently. What sounded so hopeful in the past, as in, 'Some day I want to do ___________ with this," has now come down to, "How much time do I really have left to do these projects; in twenty years, if we're blessed to live that long, we'd be eighty."
Yes, the passage of time does change things, and I think Carl is feeling his mortality. Will there be a huge purge of everything we own overnight? Probably not. But as one member of the support group said, "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time." (Which also did work for the Easter bunny from fifty years ago, I did eat it, one bittersweet bite at a time.)
And as the snow piled up outside, so did our garbage bags in the house. We got so lost in the process of discarding and sorting that we were both stunned when we looked out the back door around 5PM Sunday night.
Whoa, that truly is a lot of snow.
 |
| No toast for awhile yet |
The town had plowed several times during the blizzard, which was such a change from my childhood. When I was a kid fifty years ago, we were stranded every winter for several days as only the highways were tended to. If you lived on a side road, you learned to wait. (Or use your farm tractor to get yourself out.)
We made it to the road and trudged along. It really did feel good to be outside after almost 48 hours even with the biting wind and still-pelting snow.
 |
| Carl, on the road, looking back toward the house. |
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| I had driven the tractor in after the last time I drove it, now we had to turn it around to put the snow blower back on. |
Just as Carl and I arrived at Mom's house, Joel called to ask how the digging out was going and that he was on his way to help. I was worried about the roads; everyone was told to stay off of them unless it was an emergency. But there were a few cars now and then on the highway in the distance, so the world was starting to come back to life.
In the meantime, Carl and I put the blower back on the tractor and got started.
By the time Joel arrived, Carl had made one pass down the middle of Mom's driveway. Joel took over and did our yard and then we followed him over to Carl's parent's home to take on the mess there, too. The normally busy highway was down to only a handful of cars, everything was glare ice underneath. We were glad there was no traffic on the two mile drive.
Luckily, Carl's parent's yard was not as bad as our two previous ones had been.
We didn't do a complete removal of all the snow, after all, this is April, and it won't last forever (and we were running short on gasoline.)
All in all, it was an interestingly productive weekend; we tackled projects we normally wouldn't have and gained ourselves some useful space. There may be hope for us yet.
I'm hoping that someday soon, Carl and I will be able to conquer the piles of stuff and come to a happy compromise. It's all about attitude, really.
And setting the junk free also sets us free. Things don't have feelings, but boy, oh boy, people sure do.
Our takeaway reminder: How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.
10 comments:
Wow, that sure is a lot of snow. I sympathise with your dilemma over the stuff. At our old house we had house we had a large shed as well as a garage. When we moved John couldn't bear to throw things out so they moved into our garage. He still parks in the driveway (after 2 years) because the junk takes priority over the car in our garage.
OMG, you got hit hard! My brother lives in Green Bay, and they almost set a record for biggest snowfall total, ever, from one storm. This one came in at No. 2 with about 24 inches of snow! Craziness! And it's April! We only had about 3 inches here, but that was enough. I'm hoping it will all melt tomorrow. I hear you about the stuff--we have some serious winnowing to do. Hang in there--spring will be here in a few days. ;-)
You folks in the midwest sure know how to throw a snow party! Sorry about your spring storm and lack of toast! Hopefully this will all melt soon and you can start on the garden projects. Congratulations on the closet cleaning. It's much easier to keep throwing things in closets. Poor chocolate bunny. If you eat their ears first, they can't hear themselves screaming.
Hello Ros, I know. I get SO frustrated when the junk has a roof over its head and the really important things sit outside. Another quote I read on the support group was 'I have so many useful things making my usable space useless'. I certainly can relate. And the arguments are just not worth it, but my temper is not as easily contained as the junk. :-(
Hello Beth! I wonder what May will bring? (I'm almost afraid to ask.) There hasn't been much melting here, yet. I hope your snow is gone anyway!
Yes, and a rollicking good snow party it was! The entertainment was a bit dull, though. That's true about the ears, I guess I at least spared the chocolate confection's auditory senses. We made it to the store last night and toast was on the table at supper. :-)
Good grief! And I was feeling sorry for myself just for getting a few inches last weekend (OK, it's snowed four times here in the past two weeks, which is really abnormal for April - but I didn't have to go without toast!). Hope it all melts soon and you can start those petunias before long, Karen. To warmer days! -Beth
Wow, that is a looot of April snow! It snowed here too, but thankfully only a thin layer. I read that book about organizing, but the author had you start with getting rid of books, and, well, we even have a space we call our 'library', so you can guess how that went. I did clean out my bedroom closet though, which was much easier as I am not nearly as attached to clothes. Good luck on your hunt for the missing gloves, and I do hope spring will get here soon!
Jiminy Cricket! Look at all this snow! I'd better stop complaining about the rain we've been having in Seattle... Those are some astonishing snow pictures. I particularly like the ones of "Spring vs Snow", and that of Joel agains the snowbank. Unbelievable.
It was a really good use of your time, being stuck in the house for 48 hours. Keeping lots of stuff is an affliction of so many. I have helped clear up hoards before, and it's kind of scary but also satisfying when you achieve success. I made myself a rule: if I buy a new article of clothing, I must in turn get rid of an old one. One bite at the time.
That is a very impressive amount of snow, and we can definitely relate to the amount of work that it takes to clear all of that.
I've stayed in touch with the weather forecasts all winter and have happily watched as the various snowstorms have hit across the Upper Midwest all winter. And while I empathize with you about all that snow, I'm pretty dang happy that it was almost 80 degrees here in Idaho yesterday.
Looking forward to your amazing gardening pictures this Summer!
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