Thursday, November 11, 2004
Coming Back
From Alien Travel Guide, the following information is provided:
"The pack rat has a very peculiar habit. This small rodent will store up found objects, particularly if they are shiny. Moreover, a found object will almost always be replaced by another object. There is a story of a busy pack rat at a miners camp. A pack rat stole shiny, yet worthless objects from a cabin and left gold nuggets in their place! These little scavengers are approximately 1.5 ft in length, half that length being tail. Pack rats have small eyes, large ears and a blunt muzzle, as they are members of the vole family. Certain species of pack rat build large homes of sticks or cactuses. These homes have several rooms: rooms for sleeping, rooms for storing food and, of course, several rooms to pack away their found treasures. There are 22 species of pack rat found in British Columbia, south to Nicaragua."
The Holidays are upon us! How'd I know? No, not the Thanksgiving/Christmas tv ads. No, not the school fund-raising activities involving wrapping paper @ $25/sq. ft. It's the twinkle in my ever-lovin' wife's eye. The right eye. The mal occhia. It's time to de-clutter, or, purge, as she so eloquently puts it. The detritus of the year has been accumulating, along with the previous year's throwoutables that I've successfully squirelled away in our old house's secret nooks and crannies. Our small (but cute, as my daughter insists I add on when I discuss the dimunitive dimensions) home is groaning with possessions of intermittent usage. I thought we'd attained our apex of plentitude when the kids were young and their toys reproduced whilst we slept. But, as they say, the toys don't go away; they just get bigger. So, the wave has not crested. It's a rising tsunami and our house is in its path.
The wife, being on constant vigil for changes affecting the home, had seen the ripple back in January and had already started her calculations regarding the affect of the incoming flotsam. I, being of Old World stock (well, actually, of the New Europe stock,as Donald Rumsfield so tactfully pointed out a few years (and worlds) ago), sense the goods arriving by the rising of warmth and comfort into our house. Books? CD's? Magazines? Newspapers? They are all worthy insulating material that serve double-duty as sources of enlightment and entertainment.
What's the problem with that?
Yes, it does make it difficult to maneuver about the residence. Yes, it's easy to trip, especially late at night when visiting the kitchen for a glass of water. But isn't that what quaintness is all about? I won't even go into the chubby herd of dustbunnies cropping up with each new arrival of stuff. Sure, it's not the Scandanavian look. But, hell, YOU know what the alcoholism and suicide rates are in Norway, Denmark, and Sweden!?! There's no space for booze in our house, thanks to the life-affirming presence of books and cd's. Killing myself? Yeah, I guess I can heave myself from the pile of New York Times stacked in the corner and land on the floor way way way down below. But, I think the stack of John Coltrane or Bill Charlap or, even, Galactic cd's will break my fall. I'll just pick out the shards of plastic from the damaged cd cases and wallow in my lucky and much cluttered life.
But the game has to be played. The dance has to be danced. Negotiations with the ever-loving wife get hot 'n heavy. The Teamsters and General Motors talks? That's just cafe clatter in comparison.
Volume displacement.
Paper expansion through moisture absorption.
Sunlight and its demeliorative effects on stock paper.
CD jewel boxes v. plastic sleeves.
These are all points of give and take. Late night sessions have our street's residents suspecting a neighborhood cabal planning an upheaval of life as they know it.
Compromise is reached. Boxes of forgettables are place don the curb for pick-up. Multiple trips to the recylcing stations reduce the weight our poor little (but cute!) house has to bear. I could swear the house is 2-3 feet taller now. We're ready for the holidays (and next year's accumulations)
But....
In my next life, I'm coming back as a pack rat. I've been practicing for a long time....
From Alien Travel Guide, the following information is provided:
"The pack rat has a very peculiar habit. This small rodent will store up found objects, particularly if they are shiny. Moreover, a found object will almost always be replaced by another object. There is a story of a busy pack rat at a miners camp. A pack rat stole shiny, yet worthless objects from a cabin and left gold nuggets in their place! These little scavengers are approximately 1.5 ft in length, half that length being tail. Pack rats have small eyes, large ears and a blunt muzzle, as they are members of the vole family. Certain species of pack rat build large homes of sticks or cactuses. These homes have several rooms: rooms for sleeping, rooms for storing food and, of course, several rooms to pack away their found treasures. There are 22 species of pack rat found in British Columbia, south to Nicaragua."
The Holidays are upon us! How'd I know? No, not the Thanksgiving/Christmas tv ads. No, not the school fund-raising activities involving wrapping paper @ $25/sq. ft. It's the twinkle in my ever-lovin' wife's eye. The right eye. The mal occhia. It's time to de-clutter, or, purge, as she so eloquently puts it. The detritus of the year has been accumulating, along with the previous year's throwoutables that I've successfully squirelled away in our old house's secret nooks and crannies. Our small (but cute, as my daughter insists I add on when I discuss the dimunitive dimensions) home is groaning with possessions of intermittent usage. I thought we'd attained our apex of plentitude when the kids were young and their toys reproduced whilst we slept. But, as they say, the toys don't go away; they just get bigger. So, the wave has not crested. It's a rising tsunami and our house is in its path.
The wife, being on constant vigil for changes affecting the home, had seen the ripple back in January and had already started her calculations regarding the affect of the incoming flotsam. I, being of Old World stock (well, actually, of the New Europe stock,as Donald Rumsfield so tactfully pointed out a few years (and worlds) ago), sense the goods arriving by the rising of warmth and comfort into our house. Books? CD's? Magazines? Newspapers? They are all worthy insulating material that serve double-duty as sources of enlightment and entertainment.
What's the problem with that?
Yes, it does make it difficult to maneuver about the residence. Yes, it's easy to trip, especially late at night when visiting the kitchen for a glass of water. But isn't that what quaintness is all about? I won't even go into the chubby herd of dustbunnies cropping up with each new arrival of stuff. Sure, it's not the Scandanavian look. But, hell, YOU know what the alcoholism and suicide rates are in Norway, Denmark, and Sweden!?! There's no space for booze in our house, thanks to the life-affirming presence of books and cd's. Killing myself? Yeah, I guess I can heave myself from the pile of New York Times stacked in the corner and land on the floor way way way down below. But, I think the stack of John Coltrane or Bill Charlap or, even, Galactic cd's will break my fall. I'll just pick out the shards of plastic from the damaged cd cases and wallow in my lucky and much cluttered life.
But the game has to be played. The dance has to be danced. Negotiations with the ever-loving wife get hot 'n heavy. The Teamsters and General Motors talks? That's just cafe clatter in comparison.
Volume displacement.
Paper expansion through moisture absorption.
Sunlight and its demeliorative effects on stock paper.
CD jewel boxes v. plastic sleeves.
These are all points of give and take. Late night sessions have our street's residents suspecting a neighborhood cabal planning an upheaval of life as they know it.
Compromise is reached. Boxes of forgettables are place don the curb for pick-up. Multiple trips to the recylcing stations reduce the weight our poor little (but cute!) house has to bear. I could swear the house is 2-3 feet taller now. We're ready for the holidays (and next year's accumulations)
But....
In my next life, I'm coming back as a pack rat. I've been practicing for a long time....
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