tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070024.post1229216067953642233..comments2023-10-31T15:39:09.651+01:00Comments on box elder: Return of the stuff monsterLucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070024.post-24576567538869192982016-11-17T08:19:48.251+01:002016-11-17T08:19:48.251+01:00Yes, I like that but fear it: stuff that would nev...Yes, I like that but fear it: stuff that would never have been cleaned, gets cleaned, returns in a new guise, with unexpected powers of accusation. And our lives intersect.<br /><br />We live in what I shall always think of as a "new" house, for we were its first occupants. But we moved in nearly twenty years ago. It's not so much that the house has changed, rather that I have. Twenty years ago I did DIY round the house, I had to: toilet-roll holders needed installing in an embarrassment of toilets. Walls coloured magnolia needed repainting <i>for purely aesthetic reasons</i>. I set aside clothes I would always wear for doing dirty, messy work. <br /><br />Years passed, I became enfeebled or possibly disinclined. I realised I was now meeting certain middle-class norms by giving work (progressively less and less demanding) to those artisans whose existence I am required to support. And on the floor in one of our more obscure cavities was a cardboard box containing the "messy work" clothes, untouched since... when? One doesn't put on messy clothes to write a sonnet. Though perhaps one should; paint-spattered trousers might make the lines more honest.<br /><br />The box is gone and - given this post of yours - thank God. Suppose those trousers had been cleaned through unexpected imperatives. I too would have faced accusations or at least silent interrogations about materialism: that I might be decrepit but could still wield a paint-brush. On the most subconscious of subconscious levels I salute you<br />Roderick Robinsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16828395545197001637noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070024.post-83863491537450075662016-11-17T05:52:53.242+01:002016-11-17T05:52:53.242+01:00i'm living alone in a large modern house with ...i'm living alone in a large modern house with one bed, 3 chairs, 2 towels, a handful of spoons, 2 forks and 2 butter knives. this is the first time i've been able to count my possessions as far back as i can remember (well, the bed isn't really mine, the towels and most cutlery are borrowed too, and the chairs we'll decide on in the future). it feels temporary but it also feels very good. i know that mr. monkey's upcoming visit will deposit a large pile of my possessions here and as much as i'm thrilled to see him, i'm sort of happy with the lack of stuff, so i get your feelings about all this!the polish chickhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09929281676865641560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070024.post-90953199787199225492016-11-17T03:29:38.221+01:002016-11-17T03:29:38.221+01:00Oh I know how you feel, Lucy! The gradual re-appea...Oh I know how you feel, Lucy! The gradual re-appearance of clutter after periods of blessed emptiness seems to be inevitable. Like chaos always winning in the struggle with whatever the word is for non-chaos. Order? Not really.<br /><br />I remember moving into a new flat from an old, normally cluttered one and feeling so energised and peaceful in the wondrously clear, empty space. Until the moving van arrived and unloaded all the old clutter packed into boxes, bags and suitcases. I left them unpacked for a long time.<br /><br />Maybe you could recycle the newly-pristine but not needed items to neighbours and/or family?<br />Natalie d'Arbeloffhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07757081405040926647noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070024.post-9848416563972752182016-11-17T00:41:36.139+01:002016-11-17T00:41:36.139+01:00Ah. I work with a Japanese nurse, love her dearly,...Ah. I work with a Japanese nurse, love her dearly, but she really doesn't have any Rs. Not a judgement, an accurate observation, I think.Zhoenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03515663141425057088noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070024.post-6206624949575388272016-11-16T22:53:19.706+01:002016-11-16T22:53:19.706+01:00That was quick, Z!
It wasn't so much the fluc...That was quick, Z!<br /><br />It wasn't so much the fluc I worried about; I wasn't sure if it might be construed as at all racist. I tended to think as the Asian person got the last word perhaps not too badly so. Thanks for the link, looks like a good blog.Lucyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37070024.post-49389481447088153272016-11-16T21:07:12.230+01:002016-11-16T21:07:12.230+01:00I'm still getting rid of stuff that I didn'...I'm still getting rid of stuff that I didn't prune away when we moved into the house. The urgency is gone, of course. <br /><br />I'm deeply offended. Have you been over to Strong Language? https://stronglang.wordpress.com<br /><br />Zhoenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03515663141425057088noreply@blogger.com