Stuffed

Our garage is looking a little overstuffed.  Boxes line the walls, full of unshelved, unread books, old certificates and artwork, mementos packed in tissues, binders from past jobs, and clothes that don't fit anyone. Bikes hang from the ceiling and lie across the floor, entangled with scooters, roller blades, and ripsticks. Wetsuits drip-dry from a line suspended from hooks hanging down from the ceiling. Suitcases are stacked haphazardly on top of placeless dining chairs. Three old coffee makers await the ewaste pickup day, missed three times.  A "rescued" road sign one of the college kids picked up one night gives me grief because it has no place, and I don't know how to get rid of it and the teen who picked it up is off at college and can't toss it in a dumpster himself.

Six tennis rackets, a box of model trains, dive gear, bike repair tools, a shelf full of offsize cleats, a bin of balls and wooden swords, three sets of golf clubs, 8 folding camp chairs, 2 bins of camping supplies, an overflowing box of sleeping bags. Old blankets, a pack n play, a stroller, a car seat. An old desk, an unused rocking chair, a cupboard full of VHS tapes and CDs. And then a workbench cluttered with tools and hardware and paint and oil and broken things to be fixed. Bags of t-shirts to make into a t-shirt quilt for a graduation present for the kid who graduated three years ago, or throw away.  Three coolers and a water jug. Unnecessary lamps. Bins full of decor for Easter, Halloween and Christmas times four.

The catalog could continue, but you get the idea.  We have a lot of stuff that is used rarely, if ever.  Every so often, once every couple of years usually, we go through things and shred some papers, cull some belongings for the giveaway truck in an attempt to half our belongings, so we don't go over the weight limit when we move. Since we already have more beds, mattresses, chairs, and dressers than the average family because we have a larger than average family, I always feel somewhat concerned about our worldly possessions adding up to more poundage than the average family is allowed.

Since we didn't move this summer (my husband just started a new job for the Navy in an office across the bay and a few miles down the road), I feel out of sorts.  The St. Vincent de Paul truck came to church last weekend, so we loaded up the Suburban with some unused shelves, several bags of cargo shorts and other unstylish clothes, the old crib, extra tennis rackets, and a kid-sized rolling suitcase (because we still have three others), and I meant to throw in an extra scooter no one rides. I even gave away some books.

I would like to keep shedding, to go through boxes of documents and mementos, to get rid of stuff and move on to a new place, despite the glorious weather, pristine gardens, and friendly neighbors at our current location. I would like to move someplace where the rent is less, the yard is more, and the local Catholic school is Catholic and affordable, where the church has an active youth group for teenagers, where we meet with some people who are less concerned about temporal things and more concerned with eternity. I would like to someday be able to paint the walls the color I like and plant a tree that I will see fruit.  I would also like to quit some volunteer duties gracefully - by moving.

But the Navy still has the upper hand for a few more years, and here we stay for at least two of those.

In my mind and heart, I know that we are lucky to get to stay. A lot of people would be thrilled to stay put for a few more years, especially with a senior in high school.

But I feel the weight of the stuff. It accumulates with time, and fear keeps it around - a fear of needing it the next time around, of getting rid of it and then wishing we had it. Or maybe it is a fear of forgetting, of not having a history without it.  The longer something stays around, even if it is something silly like an old paper, the harder it is to part with it.

All the natural disasters the past few weeks are a reminder of how quickly stuff can be lost. And of how unnecessary it is to survival.  Carrying the weight of having to stay in a place long enough to get tired of the responsibilities, the duties, the frustrations with schools, the disappointment with the okay youth program, the potential for what could be good, but just doesn't quite measure up,  the burdens of friendship and not-friendships, of fees and uniforms, and teams is tiring. This is my lament for the week.  Tomorrow I'll feel grateful again, and I'll move on to the next thing, and try not to think about everything in the garage basement for a few more months.

Instead of quitting it all, finding a dumpster, and moving away, I will stay put and keep at it, or say I'm sorry, I can't, or find someone else.  I will be grateful for the chance to stay with something for a change. At least I know a few someones now.