The basement has gotten out of hand again. Although it was a picture of perfect order last winter, during our chaotic year, it became everyone’s catch-all.
Last week Nelson built some custom shelves to organize one category of chaos: paint cans and paint clothes, brushes and turpentine, rollers and roller pans, scrapers and cutting tools, drop cloths and rags. After watching disorder give way to order, I was eager to tackle other areas of basement chaos.
The giant shelves Nelson built last year have become overloaded and messy, although I can’t take full blame. When Louisa and Birgitta left their Chicago apartment to pursue studies in Hawaii and Iowa, all their possessions came to our basement. Then, after Nelson emptied his storage facility in Tennessee, that truck load of stuff also came toward Michigan but didn’t get past our driveway.
He assessed the basement with its narrow aisles winding between stacks of debris, and together we decided a small storage unit was the answer, at least for now. We gathered everything we wouldn’t need to see or touch for a year, as well as everything from Chicago and Nashville, and hauled it to the storage facility. How nice to see the basement floor again.
If I had to choose one word as a banner over my last five years it would be “packing.” And of course where there’s packing, there’s unpacking. The truth about the basement is that most of it belongs to me. Boxes and bins have been my constant companions, but I’m learning to ask, “How much of this should I save?”
I grew up under the influence of a Depression Era mother who kept a box marked, “Bits of string too short to save.” She once told me, “I could live off your garbage.”
Mom also collected the water from her wash machine and reused it to wash floors. She’d defend herself by saying, “During the Depression we couldn’t afford soap and had to make our own. This soapy water shouldn’t be wasted.”
She’d tell visitors, “If I find one pea on the floor, I make pea soup.” They thought she was kidding.
Although Mom had endless ways to save money, her Depression-logic moved her to save everything else, too. She was sure our shoes from 7th grade would be back in fashion soon. The plastic lid from a gallon of ice cream could be used as a Frisbee. Pencils could still write, even if they were too short to hold. Old rubber bands made wonderful dental floss.
Where’s the line between sensible and silly? I asked myself that question thousands of times as we downsized our old house and eliminated half of everything. After the move, we eliminated half again, and now the basement. Give away? Put away? Throw away? Handling and categorizing each item is exhausting.
So here we are again, having rented another storage unit, sorted through more stuff, filled more bins and relocated heaps of possessions. I know my kids’ things won’t stay long, and those aren’t what concern me. Instead, I’m looking critically at my own stockpiles. What’s worth keeping? What’s not?
As always, our practical Bible has the answer.
“Don’t store up treasures here on earth where moths eat them and rust destroys them and where thieves break in and steal.” (Matthew 6:19)
