I had three pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified to find that they required to be dusted daily, when the furniture of my mind was all undusted still, and I threw them out the window in disgust. How else could I have a furnished house? I would rather sit in the open air, for no dust gathers on the grass. — Henry David Thoreau, Walden
What charming words! Thoreau built a tiny shack on the banks of Walden Pond near Concord, Massachusetts, and lived there for two years as an experiment in living the simplest and least expensive life possible. However, something in our nature is appeased by our possessions. I’m afraid that I’m too attached to my stuff. Also, as much as I enjoy nature, I have no desire to live in a shack without plumbing and central air!
Bill began assembling his wares for a garage sale three weeks in advance and consulted me about what to divest ourselves of. “What about all those vases?” We had about twenty vases that once contained valentine, anniversary, birthday, sympathy and get-well-soon bouquets. “Let’s save a few and sell the rest.” “We have that extra set of dishes for eight that we never use, as we no longer entertain large groups.” “What about those extra champagne flutes?” “What about those cots?” “We never camp any more. What about the Coleman stove?”
During the process of deciding which items to keep and which to sell, I came to the realization that many of our possessions are more than inanimate objects. They are the stuff of memories. Also, discarding them makes me see the changes that have occurred in our lives.
Take the Coleman stove for example: During camping trips in Utah, we watched western tanagers perch on the edge of the skillet, eating scrambled eggs that we saved for them. In Colorado curious ruby-throated hummingbirds would hover a few inches from my nose while I cooked. At Jenny Lake in my beloved Tetons, I took peeps at the glorious mountains while I prepared meals. It has been several years since Bill and I last camped at Jenny Lake, and I know that I shall not again stride up a mountain trail with the vigor of youth or cook outside where hummingbirds and western tanagers keep me company.
Bill worked hard, dragging stuff in from the storage shed and the nooks and crannies of our house. He laid it all out in the center of our garage and priced it. He was ready for business. And then the first Saturday, it rained . . . and the next . . . and the next . . .
He stacked it all in a corner. It’s a good thing that he did because he bought a replacement for our gas grill that stopped working two days before the Fourth of July. He couldn’t get the new one in the car so he unpacked boxes of parts and laid out over a hundred pieces on the garage floor. Then he spend a day assembling the thing, using inadequate instructions. He continues to amaze me with his talents: It worked!
At last there was a sunny Saturday, and various people stopped to peruse the stuff spread out on our driveway. We met a new neighbor; a man from the neighborhood bought the cots: and a friend — bless her heart! — bought several things.
He made less than $100 — not a lot, considering his time and effort. I suggested that he put the unsold items out by the street, but his packrat instinct prevailed, and he neatly stowed them away. Last week I opened a cabinet door out in the garage. Eek! There was that ugly turkey platter! Sigh . . . wclarke@comcast.net