A Dirty Little Secret

This is what I saw in my bedroom last Monday morning: 

Little Shop of Hoarding

To which my response was "WTF?!? What in the hell is going on? Whose shit is this?"


The pile of crap didn't actually appear overnight, but I had done an uncharacteristically good job of blocking it out lo these many months. It started with the TV. Four or five, maybe even 6 months ago we replaced the TV in our room and the old TV made it only as far as against the wall next to the cedar chest. It was supposed to make it's way downstairs to the garage and then out to the end of the driveway for the next charity that sent out their neon postcard with TVs on their acceptable list for curb side pick up. Numerous pick ups came and went and there the TV sat.



Next came a bag of clothes also intended for the charity truck that got wedged between the TV and the cedar chest. Then came clothes and shoes from my daughter's room for give away that got piled on top of the TV. Finally the pile of clothes that Scott left in the middle of the closet floor (because after sorting through his clothes he didn't know where else to put the give away pile) got moved by me to the cedar chest. 


I really hate clutter. My house is generally within 10 minutes of being totally picked up. Shoes, backpacks, pillows, blankets and toys don't belong strewn about the floor. If you are playing with the toys, fine. If you're building a fort, then okay with the pillows and blankets, but when fort time is over, PICK IT UP! I do not like my kitchen counter to be cluttered with food and appliances. Just the basics thank you very much- a fruit bowl, toaster, microwave and coffee maker and I kinda of wish I had spots to put the appliances away when not in use. We moved a couple years ago and while I did not feel my old house was particularly knick knacked out or cluttered, I had too much shit spread all over. This house is bigger yet I still have framed photos and decorator type items in boxes. I do have family pictures and artwork in the house, but I'm going for the "minimal with kids" look. 


So, me having a large appliance buried in clothing sitting on my bedroom floor for an extended period of time just isn't the norm. I'm not really sure how I dealt with it for weeks and months. I put on blinders and let it become part of the room. Every once in a while I would stop and look at the growing mound and mutter something about living in a trailer park and move on. A couple times after strong male family type people had been here and I said to Scott, "Damn it, I should have asked strong Joe Family Dude to help you move the TV to the garage!" to which he would respond, "That TV isn't too heavy for one person." clearly implying he could move it himself, because when he said one person I am certain he wasn't referring to me. But alas, the TV didn't move.  


Last Monday, I hit the wall. I could no longer see anything but the TV and it's accoutrements. The clothes got bagged up and taken to the garage and the TV got ousted from the bedroom. It was glorious. I vacuumed and got rid of the marks in the carpet the TV had made during it's encampment, opened the curtains and the windows and started singing, "Let the sunshine in". The room felt bigger, the sun was shining brighter and I was no longer worried that we were headed towards an appearance on hoarders. Yippee!

TA-DA!

I parked the TV near the top of stairs and mentioned to Scott that it was there waiting for him to heave ho it to it's said destination. Assuming it wouldn't move for days or weeks, I wrote a pithy paragraph here about how long it would sit there. I smugly saved my post planning to publish it in the morning, but then I killed the laptop monitor and couldn't actual edit the saved post until today (over a week later). Anyway... when I walked out of the bedroom I became disoriented and confused as I saw only carpet where I expected to see a TV. 


Me: (with complete disbelief) "Did you move the TV?"


Scott: "Yeah, before we went to dinner" (hours earlier)


Me: (shocked) "Oh, thanks... that's fantastic" 


While I was really happy he moved the TV, I was completely flummoxed that I had gone up and down the stairs several times without noticing the TV had been moved. Maybe the trailer park pile sat in my bedroom for so long because my grasp of the obvious just isn't what it used to be.

Peace & Love :-)

A Leaky Bucket

It is a well known fact that I cannot carry a tune. Not just like I'll never get a recording contract can't sing, but dogs howling and small children covering their ears and screaming can't sing. I come by this honestly from my father's side. None of the Buckminsters can sing. 

Buckminster is not my actual maiden name as I am on the down low here, but the name cracks me up. When I was pregnant with my son, my then 4 y/o daughter and I would look at name book after name book. One day we came across the name Buckminster and we cracked up. We then proceeded to call the unborn baby Buckminster. I had never heard of Buckminster Fuller (famous inventor architect dude) until after we started calling my stomach that, but just because there is a somewhat famous guy with that name does not take away from the fact that the name is funny. 

When I was in 6th grade I got selected for a role in our class play that required a bit of singing. I told the music teacher that I couldn't sing. He said he would work with me and it would be fine. I said no, really, I can't sing. He said it would be fine. After one rehearsal it was decided that the during my solo I would step over near the choir and they would sing with me. I'm pretty sure I was told to sing quietly or possibly to just mouth the words.

In college I repeatedly took a course called Gospel Choir. It wasn't gospel music appreciation it was a full on choir. I know, I know...why in the hell would I sign up for a class where I had to sing? Well it was a very large class and pretty much everyone I knew took it. If you showed up to class and a certain of number of concerts during the quarter, you got 4 easy units of A. No brainer! I always sang quietly and tried not to call attention to myself. The guy who taught it was really good at picking out when someone was off. He would isolate it to the alto, soprano, tenor, etc. section and then go row by row and a few people at a time until he found the offender. The instructor wasn't being a hard ass he was being helpful and I was in awe of his skills. I was also terrified of being singled out and having him try to help me already knowing I was beyond help. One of the quarters I sat next to a friend who actually asked me to just mouth the words, because when I sang even ever so quietly it threw her off key. 

The worst is when the Buckminster family gets together for birthday parties. We are all such notoriously bad singers that we don't even try to sound good. We go the other direction and make an effort to be extra loud and extra off key. It is god awful and hilarious. If you are a Buckminster and can sing- 1) How come I'm not aware of this? and B) You owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to the other 50% of your DNA! 

Peace & Love :-)