Packrat

[vaneramos]

For the second winter in a row, mice launched an all-out war on the cottage. Last year my sister-in-law found the mess and had a fit, but Mom said, "Mice are a fact of cottage life. No use getting exciting about it." But cleaning up was a big job. We had to clear cupboards, clean them, and haul linens and towels to the laundromat in Huntsville. My bed had to be stripped down. The mouse seed Dad had left had been virtually useless, in fact the mice had just carted and scattered it everywhere. A bizarre, ritualistic disc of seeds had been neatly arranged in the middle of the livingroom rug. The only dead mice we found were three or four caught in traps and one that apparently fell into the bathtub and starved there.

While cleaning the large cupboard under the bathroom sink, I was bewildered by a vast and ancient collection of bottles.

"Dad, can I throw out some shampoo? There are bottles and bottles and bottles...."

"Yes. I already threw out some hairspray. Mom was such a packrat. It was just as bad at Poplar Bluff. I never saw her clean up anything like that."

"Well she kept it all spotlessly clean, but she never got rid of anything. She must have kept every bottle of shampoo and sunblock that anyone ever brought to the cottage and left here. I suppose she thought they would use it when they came back, but nobody remembers things like that from one summer to the next."

It didn't end with hair product. While loading clean towels back into the cupboards, I noticed we had enough to keep the entire family (including seven grandchildren and significant others) dry for an indeterminate period. Dad says Mom was just as bad with clothes and shoes. She never threw out anything. Her other obsession seems to have been turkey breast. When Dad cleaned out the full-size freezer and two refrigerators at home, he came across dozens of packages, some dating back several years.

But Mom kept the cleanest house of anyone I've ever known. To walk into it, you would never realize she was such a packrat. During the last few months of her illness, she managed to maintain this standard, apparently by extension through Dad, whose energy is practically boundless. Whatever demands she pressed upon him helped prepare him for an independent life.

It's odd how I'm coming to see a more complete picture of Mom now that she is gone. Odd too, because I lived with her for many years. I experienced the cleanliness, and the clutter, but never recognized the contrast as peculiar. As a child, it was what I knew. Now it seems funny, hearing Dad put it into words.

I inherited clutter. Unfortunately the other part doesn't come naturally. But while Dad simplifies the remains of their shared life, I too have been simplifying mine.

This voluptuous lady's-slipper orchid, Cypripedium acaule grows on our property, and a huge clump of them blooms next door. The peculiar violet with lance-shaped leaves, Viola lanceolata, shows up in wet places along the roadside; the flower is less than 5 mm across. There is an additional photo of each flower in this Wildflowers set.

Comments

[missprune.livejournal.com]

I'm married to a guy who has a real aversion to getting rid of things. I have been pondering what it might mean. I'm sure there are ramifications. I actually enjoy the act of tossing out stuff, passing it along to the thrift stores, decluttering my space. Packrat would be a good description of my husband too, only it's more a matter of ignoring the piling up of old mail, notes from work, outdated memos etc etc until the desk is an avalanche. Just not seeing it, not dealing with it, not eliminating the old to make space or room for what is important now. I guess your Mom's habit might be a little different. I think perhaps our parents who went through the Depression had a tendency to save things for when maybe they'd be needed? I can see that in both of my parents, a fear of letting go of stuff. The difference between his aversion to eliminating things, and my delight in it, intrigues me!

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

I am naturally inclined like your husband: to ignore stuff piling up, or simply not see it because I'm engrossed in whatever. Through years of living alone and grappling with the creative process, I have become aware of the need for space and simplicity. This is one of the gifts of living alone: that I have no one else to get frustrated with, and plenty of time and space to allow my own motivations to bloom and bear fruit.

[artricia.livejournal.com]

Wow, that orchid's almost obscene!

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Very. It also looks like a female figure.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you enjoyed them, Ian, and I'm happy to hear from you!

[progbear.livejournal.com]

That orchid looks like a lady wearing a hat. Seriously.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Yes, I'm surprised you're the only person who commented about that!

[currawong.livejournal.com]

That slipper-orchid is breathtaking Van, and the fact that it is wild is the icing on the cake.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Yes, it delights me that these things are growing wild on my own cottage property. They are not uncommon, but still.

Years ago on the country property where I lived just outside Guelph, I stumbled upon a clump of C. parviflorum in an adjacent wetland. Sadly I wasn't doing photography in those days, so I have not record of it.

http://www.ct-botanical-society.org/galleries/cypripediumparv.html