Humor/De-cluttering

How I Arrived At My Golden Rule of De-cluttering

The five-year plan

This post started out as a comment on Shereen Bingham’s heartfelt poem about living with clutter. The comment got so long that I turned it into a post instead.

A place for everything —

In my first two years of marriage, I lived in a joint family with my husband and in-laws.

One morning, a month after the wedding, my mother-in-law, Mami¹, and I were in the kitchen prepping lunch.

Mami pointed to a shelf on which sat an assortment of old copper pans. I could buy new stainless steel pots to boil milk, she said, if I could find some other place for these old pans.

She didn’t want to get rid of the pans for sentimental reasons. And there was no free space in the kitchen cupboards.

How about the garage? I suggested.

So, off we went to the garage.

Old news —

In the garage, built-in shelves ran along the length of two walls. The storage here was packed to the roof. But I saw potential in the top shelf to the right of the door.

I say “potential” because a foot high stack of magazines and newspapers already resided in the space in question.

I stood on a stool and lifted a magazine off the top. Using a rag, I wiped off the quarter-inch thick layer of dust — and found myself staring at the cover page of a five-year-old copy of Newsweek. The other magazines and newspapers were dated to the same year or to years gone by.

Will anyone even read this? I asked.

It was a rhetorical question. But Mami informed me that this hoard belonged to R, her son, and my hubby. And R planned to — maybe — read it someday. Maybe.

Has he read even a single one? I asked.

Mami sighed. He’s so busy.

If he hasn’t touched this in over five years…

He’ll get upset if we throw out his things without asking.

I can guarantee he’s forgotten about this pile of old news, I said. Anyway, who’s going to tell him?

(It was another rhetorical question that would be answered shortly.)

Mami blinked agitatedly, but didn’t protest when I took down the maybe reading material. I arranged the copper pans in their new home. They stacked up almost to the roof and fit quite neatly. Later that day, I dropped off the old magazines and papers at the recycling store.

Cookbooks v. Elizabeth Bennett

When R came home from work that evening, Mami darted glances at me but her lips stayed sealed. On day two, however, her maternal conscience reasserted itself.

We gave away your newspapers and magazines, she announced baldly to R.

R looked confused. What newspapers and magazines?

The ones in the garage, Mami explained, helpfully.

R looked blank for a second, then flung open the front door and marched around the side of the house and into the garage. Mami and I followed at a quick run.

R stopped in front of the shelf on which his dust-catchers had reigned supreme. That little kingdom has now been annexed by an assortment of elderly copper pots.

I tried to tamp down his anger.

You never read those old magazines and newspapers anyway, I reasoned. That’s why I got rid of them.

Oh, really? R said, smoke coming out of his ears. So, let’s see… you never read your cookbooks. How about I get rid of them?

R would have had a fight on his hands if he had tried to take my copy of Pride and Prejudice or The Golden Treasury of Poems. I had packed both books lovingly to bring to my new home. But the cookbooks?

My mother had gifted me three cookbooks. I was to try the recipes therein to shore up my non-existent culinary skills and dazzle my new family. But R was right. I hadn’t yet opened a single cookbook.

Fine! You can give away my cookbooks. I said, and added for good measure, I guess it’s a fair trade.

R gave me some serious side-eye. He knew full well that throwing out the cookbooks would upset his mother-in-law more than it bothered his wife.

Long story short, I still have the cookbooks.

Over the years, I tried some of the recipes, bookmarked my favorites, and even dazzled a handful of people with my culinary talents. So, Mom accomplished her mission somewhat — even if it wasn’t in the shorter timeframe she had visualized.

Final takeaway—

So, how does this story connect with Shereen’s poem? Well, it ties the de-cluttering motif in the poem with R’s five-year-old copy of Newsweek thusly —

My golden rule of de-cluttering is that if I don’t use something for five years, I either give it away or get rid of it.

(I am now trying to whittle the five years down to three.)

I apply the same principle to R’s stuff. Unless the stuff in question is electronics, travel guides, or computer manuals.

Or cookbooks.

In our household I am the cook. I churn out the everyday rice-and-curry meals. R is the chef who cooks on special occasions and whips up dishes with long, exotic names. He finds his recipes online but keeps, in his study, a dozen cookbooks (Italian, French, Japanese, etc.) — which he never consults.

Still, I won’t be throwing out those cookbooks anytime soon. Kind of returning the favor.

[1]: I addressed my mother-in-law as “Mami” which means “Auntie.” This is a common form of address in parts of southern India.

Here’s a link to Shereen Bingham’s poem:

Do check out this thought-provoking article by John Egelkrout:

And this very enjoyable story by Toya Qualls-Barnette:

Thanks to the editors of Reciprocal for publishing my story. Appreciate all your hard work.