Somehow, in the eight years we have been married, my husband and I have managed to go through five address changes, and we are about to go through a sixth as we get ready to move to central Michigan.
Each time we move, I marvel at how much stuff we have accumulated. The stuff fills our cupboards and shelves and accumulates like sediment in a riverbed. Think of swimming in a pond, treading water, and putting your foot down only to find there is no bottom, only a mucky collection of debris. That's how I think of our collection of belongings: household sediment.
I remember when I was in my undergraduate years and would move from apartment to apartment and be able to pack up everything I own in the back of my Nissan Pulsar hatchback.
Then I graduated from college, moved back to my hometown and three things happened.
< B>Matrimonial household sediment.< B>
First, I met a guy and got married.
Even though we had a scaled-down, simple wedding, we wanted gifts, man.
Going into our registry appointments, my husband and I planned to register for a few things: china, crystal and flatware.
Our cheerful department-store registry assistant led us through every inch of the "stuff-for-the-home" section and three hours later, we had a ten-page registry. And that was just at the first store. The clerk at Bed, Bath and Beyond persuaded me to put $50 down-filled pillows on our registry. And my husband fell in love with this $70 two-slice toaster, which someone actually purchased for us. (The toaster has an automatic "down" feature, but we discovered it works only if you give the appliance a firm jerk upward to reset the lowering mechanism.)
We received a fondue pot, crock pot and pasta maker, which we never use. We got a cappuccino maker, which wasn't worth the work it took to get one globule of espresso. There's the formal china, which we use once every-other year, and I hate because it's not dishwasher safe.
See how this happens?
< B>Heritage household sediment.< B>
The second thing that happened, as we reached our thirties, is our grandparents started passing on, and we inherited miscellaneous furnishings, dishes and countless knickknacks.
< B>Autobiographical household sediment.< B>
A third phenomena has happened recently. Both sets of parents have been cleaning out attics. Each time we return from a trip to Michigan or Ohio, we cart boxes of things from our childhood: beer can collections, elementary-school artwork, books, and (his - not my) Dungeons and Dragons stuff. Your parents, sentimental as they are, have been saving things from your childhood for years. Well, guess what? Around the time you hit your mid 30s, they pawn it off onto you.
My advice to you is this: When you get married, ask for stocks, bonds or mutual funds for gifts. When grandma and grandpa die, don't get sucked into this "they'd want you to have it" talk. That means your parents' are neck-deep in their own sediment. When your parents talk about simplifying life or cleaning out clutter, run and hide.
Oh, and pick up a copy of "Garage Sale 101" by Connie Carlson. You're going to need it.
Write to Noelle at nmbowman@bsu.edu
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