Cleaning House
My parents' house is a total mess. Over the past two decades it's oscillated between just totally disorganized and unfathomably cluttered and messy. It's been a life-long dream of mine to clean the shit out of this place.
I don't know if this sounds easy or not, but I can assure you it's harder than you think. The causes of the mess are many. My parents bite off more than they can chew as a rule. They start projects that demand lot of follow-through and constant vigilance (adopting an elaborate, multi-bin compost system, maybe), go out and buy a bunch of stuff, and then abandon it, creating a brand new mess in the process.
They both also save everything that has any potential use. And for the two of them, that amounts to just about everything, period. Rubber bands can't be thrown away. Old scraps of wood can't be thrown away. Broken electronics, old clothes, a gram of grated cheese from dinner...it all has to be saved for some future use no matter the crowding.
To make things even worse, when it comes to throwing things away, they have impossibly high ecological standards (por ejemplo: a broken tape recorder can't go in the trash, it has to go to Alameda county where there's a facility that'll dismantle it and salvage the parts).
If this sounds crazy, let me assure you: it is.
But it goes beyond a case of too much junk and conservationism run amok. Swimming in the clutter are also family heirlooms (many poorly stored and thus broken), antiques, my parents' wedding pictures, still unpacked in their original box. My parents just have a really hard time taking care of what is important and letting go of what isn't.
To deal with the mess means confronting a history of bad habits, failed projects, and discontent between my parents that I only dimly understand. Growing up I was a subjugated minority in a hypocritical regime and had no authority to do anything about it. I had to get a college degree to clean my house.
And cleaning is a trip through an emotional and moral minefield, fraught with the liklihood of sudden explosions and injury.
Let's check out a room. Watch your step!
This is the "guest room." I have no idea where the guest would go. It must be cleaned.
The things in this room are not organized. This is a pile of my mom's "work documents." There are probably some important financial records in here too. If I were to start organizing this, I'd be in for a few hours' fight with my mom. It's gonna have to happen.
Just another pile of junk? Not a bad guess, but no! These are four boxes of cremated remains. The cat, Sylvester, is in the little box on top. My grandpa, Ken, is, for some reason, in both the cardboard box and the maroon one. The dog, Roo, is in the nice wood box in back. Mom has been meaning to deal with these for years. Needless to say: emotionally charged.
In one corner of the room, the woodwinds section. I have never seen anyone play these.
A hilarious set of books on one of the shelves. Probably time to read these again.
I don't know if this sounds easy or not, but I can assure you it's harder than you think. The causes of the mess are many. My parents bite off more than they can chew as a rule. They start projects that demand lot of follow-through and constant vigilance (adopting an elaborate, multi-bin compost system, maybe), go out and buy a bunch of stuff, and then abandon it, creating a brand new mess in the process.
They both also save everything that has any potential use. And for the two of them, that amounts to just about everything, period. Rubber bands can't be thrown away. Old scraps of wood can't be thrown away. Broken electronics, old clothes, a gram of grated cheese from dinner...it all has to be saved for some future use no matter the crowding.
To make things even worse, when it comes to throwing things away, they have impossibly high ecological standards (por ejemplo: a broken tape recorder can't go in the trash, it has to go to Alameda county where there's a facility that'll dismantle it and salvage the parts).
If this sounds crazy, let me assure you: it is.
But it goes beyond a case of too much junk and conservationism run amok. Swimming in the clutter are also family heirlooms (many poorly stored and thus broken), antiques, my parents' wedding pictures, still unpacked in their original box. My parents just have a really hard time taking care of what is important and letting go of what isn't.
To deal with the mess means confronting a history of bad habits, failed projects, and discontent between my parents that I only dimly understand. Growing up I was a subjugated minority in a hypocritical regime and had no authority to do anything about it. I had to get a college degree to clean my house.
And cleaning is a trip through an emotional and moral minefield, fraught with the liklihood of sudden explosions and injury.
Let's check out a room. Watch your step!
This is the "guest room." I have no idea where the guest would go. It must be cleaned.
The things in this room are not organized. This is a pile of my mom's "work documents." There are probably some important financial records in here too. If I were to start organizing this, I'd be in for a few hours' fight with my mom. It's gonna have to happen.
Just another pile of junk? Not a bad guess, but no! These are four boxes of cremated remains. The cat, Sylvester, is in the little box on top. My grandpa, Ken, is, for some reason, in both the cardboard box and the maroon one. The dog, Roo, is in the nice wood box in back. Mom has been meaning to deal with these for years. Needless to say: emotionally charged.
In one corner of the room, the woodwinds section. I have never seen anyone play these.
A hilarious set of books on one of the shelves. Probably time to read these again.
posted by Andrew at 5:37 PM
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