Storage Places – Where Stuff Lies in Darkness and Indecision

          The designated weekend had arrived.  Weeks ago I saw these ‘free’ days on the calendar and promised myself that this would be the time to tackle the storage room.  This was a job that would require energetic focus with no distractions. The task itself would produce its own distractions –which I call the inevitable exit ramps to pause and consider what to do with ‘this and that’.  I was planning to stay the course until it was done. 

          The goal?  To bring order out of chaos.  To make decisions about what stays/goes and why. To clean – ridding the area of cobwebs, dead bugs, insulation and dirt. The storage area consumes half of our basement. It houses our art supplies and serves as our workspace, it holds infrequently used household items (turkey roaster, Crockpot, serving trays),  clothing and coats for other seasons, good books worth keeping for work projects but not our faithful texts, recreational gear (golf clubs, ice skates, tennis rackets, camping supplies, mini-tramp, hula hoop, rowing machine), memorabilia and family artifacts, ‘important ‘ documents, household repair items (tools, tubes of fix-it goo, paint, extra flooring tiles ) and probably even more.   So wanted to run away, but I couldn’t.  I made a cup of tea, took a deep breath, and opened the door into the overwhelming vastness awaiting me. 

          Dear Reader:  Maybe this is the time for you to pause and list the items in your storage space.  Wonder if we have the same things? 

          I was prepared for this task with empty boxes to load for Goodwill,  my camera nearby to document items for Craig’s list (anyone interested in part of my Katharine Hepburn collection?), and the Shop-Vac!  Before long I was bringing like items together – all paint supplies landed on the same shelf!  I was seeing improvement! I was making decisions around what stayed and what went like how many casserole dishes I really needed. Two quickly moved to the Goodwill box.  A butterfly net?  To the grandchildren it goes!  I was feeling empowered! The Shop-Vac was busy sucking up knowns and unknowns, making it almost fun to keep going.  I was so thankful for its huge black hose and the sound it made when finding things!         

          I had made an early decision to NOT open every ‘important’ document and memory box.  Too much information for this weekend’s task.  Too many decisions and emotional exit ramps to navigate in this narrow timeline. I was so thankful for making this clear boundary. A new stacking and ordering of boxes was in place for another time.

          Then it happened.  Depression and guilt set in as I realized that we hadn’t used our tennis rackets in three years, the camping gear had not made it to a state park but once last summer, and those beautiful golf clubs - too long ago to remember. This required an emotional ‘exit ramp’ from the task at hand! A huge sigh came first, then a reality check about why this was true, a bit of cheerleading was heard around the edges, followed by a new resolve that this year would be different!  Please!!!  Whew! So grateful to get out of that closet alive!!

          Now the rest of the story . . . days later I am still feeling empowered by the results of that intense weekend.   Yes, there is more to do.  Those boxes of ‘important’ documents and family memorabilia are clearly visible when walking into the storage room.  I know they are patiently waiting and that another day will find me courageous and ready to explore their contents.  Just know it is not today!

Rocks and Their PLACES

                  I don’t know when it began.  It just did.  Suddenly I was seeing rocks and finding them ever so interesting.  Sometimes it was the color that caught my attention.  Sometimes it was the shape that made me pick it up and remove it from its ‘place’.    Whether I kept the rock usually depended upon how it felt nestled in my hand.  It was this tactile experience that issued the invitation for a rock to join my beloved ‘rock family’. (I simply cannot call it a ‘rock collection’ for that sounds so heartless – implying they are acquisitions intended to grow in number without discretion which is not the case.)

          Rocks decorate our home . . . on window ledges, in pottery bowls, in baskets and plants . . . fortunately my husband appreciates rocks as well.  On our recent trip to England – independent of the other – we were both picking up rocks from our land of lineage to bring back with us.  In Dover I requested three hours to savor and sense the rocks beneath my feet as I ‘walked the rocks’ along the beach.  My eyes were glued to the textures and shapes that tantalized - then touching – holding them in my hands – rubbing them between my fingers.  Each taught me something about my homeland – about me.  The Dover stones – so unusual because of the chalky cliffs and the English Channel – still felt familiar.  A reminder of a place deeply known in my bones.

          On one English ramble in the Cotswolds, we picked up what is known as a Cotswold stone – a beautiful butterscotch color found in so many of the buildings and homes in that part of the country. It feels like a worker stone – rough and angular - one that is intended to be part of a community to create a place, a structure. It’s not a stone you quickly notice by itself, but corporately - in the finished product. Just seeing it takes us back there. 

          Our trip to the Pacific Ocean last summer found us fascinated by rocks that were round and smooth and flat.  Again, I spent hours walking the rugged coastline.   My ‘family’ started growing and I began stacking them one on top of the other.  I remembered the importance of ‘stacked stones’ to the Intuits living in the frozen tundra.  Called INUKSUK’s, the stacked stones were a means of communication – letting others know the way to find shelter or food in a land of snow and ice.  What were my stacked stones communicating?   Was there more than just my awe of such simple beauty?  Why do I have altars of stones throughout my home?  Why do I find rocks so captivating?

          On the southern edge of Lake Superior we came upon a small bay that gifted us with a unique rock called a 'concretion' - the word coming from the Latin con, meaning 'together', and cresco, meaning 'to grow'. According to the Wisconsin Geological Survey, these grown-together rocks began forming about 20,000 years ago in Lake Superior.  Concretions remain something of a mystery to geologists, who believe they formed when minerals crystallized around a decaying plant or fish bone.  Water pressure and wind erosion helped create their interesting

shapes. 

          To describe a concretion is somewhat difficult as they vary, but each one looks rather odd and interesting – reminding one of ‘something’ else.  One might look like a crescent roll while another is very flat and resembles ripples in a lake. To the Native Americans in this part of the country, concretions are deeply respected for the wisdom and uniqueness they are believed to hold.  They are called ‘spirit stones’ or ‘grandfather rocks’ with each rock holding a special spirit and message gifted to the one who finds it.

          So perhaps my yearning and fascination around rocks and stones is to find the spirit within.  Each holds the mysteries of how it was formed, why it landed in a certain place, and now, that it allows itself to be found by me.  When daughter, Kate, left for college – I searched for a rock that perfectly fit into the palm of my hand and gave it to her with these words:  “If you need me for any reason, just wrap your fingers around this stone and know I am with you.”  A ‘spirit stone’ for sure, infused with a mother’s love.  

          To each of my stones, rocks and pebbles now living in a new place – far away from where I found you  . . . thank you for gifting me reminders of the places you once lived, of the ‘spirit of place’ within you!