“That’s what your house is, a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get … more stuff!”

- George Carlin

My fingers have not been doing much blogging lately and I’m fairly bursting at the seams. Summer seems to get in the way of all things industrious and easily gives way to watching trash TV and lounging in all different forms. Summer to us also means lots of socializing - a chance to reconnect with family and friends.

We recently went to visit my in-laws who are of the “don’t-you-dare- throw-anything-out-that’s-still-good, and-that-means-basically -everything-you’ve-ever-owned” generation. They remind me of my mom’s parents, who kept every piece of styrofoam meat tray and washed-out plastic bag that ever entered their home.

I wrestle with both the genetic and environmental influences in my constant war against clutter. I admit it. I love stuff. But I hate, I mean I don’t care for, (the word hate is banned at our house) the feelings I get from excess stuff. It’s oppressing, and draining, and an incredible time waster. Purging, organizing, donating, and de-cluttering is now almost as fun as shopping for new stuff. The kids (the real stuff magnets in the family) are even getting good at sorting through their own stuff and deciding which stuff hasta go.

Now if only I could get them to talk to their grandparents about purging their stuff. I imagine something like this … “Grandma, about that old toilet in the playhouse…”