I hope everyone got outside last week to do a little sun-worshipping.

Here comes the sun… sort of

Last week sister Starla arrived and brought the sun with her from Yakima — at least that’s how I tell it. Then by Friday it was 86 degrees on the Peninsula: some weather sites said it was “the hottest day in the PNW since October.” Shorts came out of drawers, flies came into the house, the Montmorency cherry started blooming, the hummers began nest building, and, overhead, big loopy “V”s of Canada geese — squawking and talking — headed north.

We jumped from months and months of cold gray winter straight into summer in one fell swoop. (And, you know what, it was almost too hot for me!) Well, for one day anyway. Now we’ve got high temps in the 50s and rainy days ahead, so we’re back to whatever passes for normal these days.

But wasn’t it glorious? — that big yellow orb sending vitamin D and warmth down onto the northwest portion of our continent on our side on the little blue ball in the great big black universe? That welcomed sunshine got me (and I assume some of you) out into the yard to reveal a bit more bare skin; and once there I noticed the lawn needs mowing (or are we going to do no-mow-May again? TBD), the hydrangea’s need another pruning, the pond needs a clean-out, the compost needs to be turned, the fruit trees need deer protection, and myriad other outside duties now need to be added to the list of interior responsibilities — like… wait for it… Spring Cleaning!

First, too much stuff

I love my home. It’s an eclectic combo of funk, practicality, invention, old-favorite-shoe kind of comfort, literary endeavor, artistic pleasure, and whimsy. I probably have a couple thousand books of poetry on shelves in my library (alphabetized by author, separated by gender) along with reference books like the O.E.D. and an array of various other dictionaries (yes, I like to actually turn pages); books on natural history, Indigenous studies, neurology, Hawaiiana, local history, gardening, linguistics, war journalists (with a focus on women correspondents like Marguerite “ Maggie” Higgins), Frenchie stuff, cookbooks, design, tiny houses, environmental studies and some childhood favorites (Mrs. Pigglewiggle’s Magic, The Borrowers, Nancy Drew). OK, obviously books can get me majorly off track.

I also have a lot of art, some actually up on walls so I can enjoy it; but many other pieces stacked/tucked/stashed in other places for rotation into the spotlight at some future time. Suffice it to say — I have too much stuff! Pretty much everywhere. And, of late, whether it’s Marie Kondo sparking joy or Swedish Death Cleaning, I have begun to ask myself, “What the heck am I going to do with all this stuff if/when I have to move?” Or “Where did all this stuff come from?” Or even, “Is there anyone who might actually want any of this?”

Mostly the answer to these questions is, “I don’t know.” Though I have to admit I’ve brought all this stuff into my house of my own free will. For the most part, I can hold up any object and remember its whole story — where I got it or from whom, when, and why. And mostly it still does spark joy, or a certain cozy familiarity at least, so tossing it seems impossible. The problem is that there is no one else, or at least very few people, who understand my attachment to said object. I suppose that’s what makes divesting of things so difficult. Discarding an object separates it forever from its emotional significance. Then it becomes simply junk, or, at best, a thing that may have inherent and practical value to someone else but likely not the same relevance in the world.

Or maybe that’s a short-sighted way to look at it. If an object is beautiful, or clever, or funny, or practical, who says it can’t have another life in the story of another human? This thought leads me in two directions. First, the beauty of shopping at second hand stores or antique malls means that new things taking up precious resources do not need to be created; and, therefore, that any place where things once owned/used/discarded can find a second life is to be honored. Second, this concept has the kernel of wisdom about how to sort the junk from the still-useful objects. Clarity was something I sorely needed as I opened my garage door.

Spring cleaning

Spiders and their webs, dusty corners, detritus, recycling, garbage, dead or dying plants, stuff forgotten in freezers, broken things — spring sheds a light on all of this. These things simply need to be revealed and dealt with: vacuumed up, scrubbed, clipped, wiped clean, fixed or tossed. A lot of this happened when the sun was out last week. (And because I was totally overwhelmed, too overwhelmed to even start, that’s why I called my sis — “Help!” — and fortunately, as mentioned, she came to the rescue.)

I emptied my entire freezer. We shook out all the throw rugs. We moved the sofa and cleaned up Jackson’s mancave (always fascinating: butter wrappers, paper towel shreds, ziplocks, candy wrappers, Chai tea carton, stuffed squirrel, and a chew toy). I shredded old tax returns and ancient business documents. I rented a U-Haul trailer and we loaded half a ton of rotten wood, yard clippings, metal miscellany, broken tools, leftover plumbing and project detritus, moldy books, mismatched gloves, worn out shoes, and innumerable mysteriously unidentifiable objects. We unloaded it all at the transfer station. (I got backing up help from Taylor.)

Then the real work began. We took out everything else in the garage and attempted to sort it by type: tools, books, camping gear, sporting equipment, building supplies, dog items, furniture, old letters, file folders, clamming gear… the list is long. Thank goodness we had several days of sun because this stuff piled up in the yard until we saw the rain was going to begin again Saturday night. That catalyzed a madcap organizational process which revealed: five hammers, six huge extension cords, four animal crates, an untold number of photographs (in the thousands?), eight or nine suitcases, six lamps, five lamp shades (unrelated to each other), four pitchforks, multiple shovels, five sets of rubber boots, nine rakes, another art stash, a partridge in a pear tree, and — well, you get the picture!

But by that time there was at least space to walk around in the garage and I could begin to make other decisions — like what could be sold, what could go to thrift shops, and what would go into another dump run. (Note: Strand Insurance in Long Beach is sponsoring a shredding event on May 6, from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. Get ready.)

So, despite the rainy days now, when the sun came out temporarily, a little lightbulb also came on in my head. Result: I’m exhausted, all my joints hurt, and I swear nothing else is coming into this house unless I can eat it.