Come to my house and you’ll see that I have a lot of stuff. Come to my basement and you’ll see even more. And I dare you to look under my stairwell.
It’s a collection of items all in storage. Household things, clothes, toys, holiday decorations, camping, etc. etc. Probably nothing out of the ordinary for a family of four, and you may even have similar artifacts. But what makes me write about my assortment of “stuff” is that a large percentage of it didn’t come out of my wallet. It was donated to say the least. Donated to the poor.
There was a time when I emerged from college, loaded with debt, newly out of a long and dragging relationship that had its fair share of emotional grief, a small town hick in a big, big city, suffering from a bout of depression, that I had no money. Not a lick. I was working 40+ hours a week on the worst shift rotation known to man and getting a regular paycheck that served me no good. I was on the lowest rung of the pay ladder that a nurse could possibly make, working just as hard, and every dime trickling towards a bill. I had hardly a morsel of food in my fridge but I could easily whip up a delicious lettuce and carrot salad. Just ask my husband. Maybe that’s why I fell in love with him. He bought me groceries and I held his hand.
Now the family that I had once cut out of my teenage life seen a need. And I wasn’t without pride but handouts seemed to be as much of a necessity as my old clunker strung together with cardboard and duct tape. So I started a collection of this goody here, that gadget there, a bit of furniture, a bit of clothing, and the occasional mouth of food.
Fast-forward the clock a few plus years and the goodies continue. Although I now no longer see them as necessity and have in turn concluded that this goodwill is now indeed excessive. And it is not directed at me nearly as much as it is my son.
Enter a scene from Everybody Loves Ethan. Marie is played as herself with the addition of a spending problem. Marie sees the extension of her huge heart best displayed in my house as a huge collection of toys and clothes. Not only is the affection directed towards my son but I get the occasional benefit as well. In fact every time the Barones come by it is with something in hand. A bag of this. A bag of that. A trinket here. A trinket there.
Perhaps I am just too highly maintained and if I were to have more of an opened mind I can see that this collection of mismatched items would create a warm, cozy environment albeit cluttered and dust filled. The fact is that I am darn sick of receiving things. It doesn’t make it pleasant to then receive other gifts for birthday’s, Christmas, or any other gift-giving day. Nor does it make it pleasant to even shop for myself or my own family members. What’s the point? They have so much as it is. There is no need. Thus it has robbed me of the little joy of buying that precious toy, or super-delicious outfit because it loses the value of one when they have ten.
I am at the point of trying to discreetly rid myself and the house of the numerous amounts of treasures that have flourished beneath my stairs. (Perhaps Blogging isn’t discreet but I plead the fifth). It has come to this because for many years of gently refusing, bluntly rejecting, getting down-right mad, and striking an air of sarcasm, I get guilt trips. One after another in as many forms as you can imagine.
The stem of all of this have deep roots. From Marie growing up within a large household, siblings sharing and handing-down everything, she now has access to a lot more financial freedom. It is evident when you see her stash of possessions; mostly the wardrobe that Oprah would compete with. One shirt, 5 different shades. Etc, etc, etc. Even though I understand the root system, it will continue to be a problem until the denial of it is lifted.
I am not hard done-by, but if I had the luxury of spending that kind of money, that frequently it wouldn’t be to fulfill a need of ownership. I would rather see it towards a charitable organization, a child sponsorship or three, feeding and clothing the poverty regions of the world. It is this kind of value I want to instill in my children. To know that another toy car or doll will only make them happy until they see the next one but to help someone in dire need will make them happy always.
I have tried helplessly and tirelessly to show the effects of overspending and have suggested many alternatives. Donate towards an RRESP, donate to a woman’s shelter, the Salvation Army, anywhere. I’ve pushed the idea of putting limits on the dollar amount for Christmas items but it has never been adhered to other than by every one else.
It’s a frustrating struggle. And I know it may be minor in lieu of the many other things affecting our planet and our people but my complaint here isn’t on the overall scale of global issues and Shopaholics but on one that loves the idea of “new” and loves to share her finds by crowding my children’s toy shelves, our closets, and underneath my stairs.
My solution? Another garage sale that’s even bigger than the one I had just two summers ago. Please stop by.
