My Other Family; a domestic drama in one act

The Mr has become convinced that I have a second family. 

His suspicions have been growing for years. Does he thinks that I haven't been entirely truthful when it comes to past events? Apparently, he isn't buying my version of how things are. Take my cooking, for example. This is a conversation we have had on numerous occasions for, oh, I don't know how long: 

The Mr: New recipe?

Me: No. I've made this before. 

(It might have been 35 years ago, but I know I've made it at least once, somewhere back in the ancient history of cooking meals every day.)

The Mr: I don't think I've ever had this.

Me: Sure you have. I made it before. You liked it.

The Mr: I'd remember if I liked it.

Me: Are you saying you don't like it? 

The Mr: I'm not saying I don't like it. Just that I've never had it.

Me: Sure you have. Because I've made it before.

The Mr: Nope. Don't think so. 

We've had this discussion so many times. But, not too long ago, he added a new wrinkle: 

The Mr: Maybe you made it for your other family.

Me: What do you mean, my other family?

The Mr: You know — the people that you cooked this for.

Me: Oh, stop. I don't have another family.

The Mr: So you say. There's got to be somebody else you're making these recipes for.

Me: No — come on! You're teasing!

Lately, he's been seeing signs in other aspects of our domestic life:

The Mr: How many times a week do we load this dishwasher? And empty it? And fill it back up again? Unbelievable!

Me: Yeah, we do seem to do a lot of dishes, alright.

The Mr: SO many! Are you sure we aren't washing your other family's dishes, too?

Me: Ha ha!

Or when we are watching our evening's TV entertainment:

Me: We've seen this. It's a re-run. 

The Mr: Really? I don't remember it. Are you sure we've seen this already?

Me: Positive. 

The Mr: Not me. Must have been your other family you saw it with.

I've started to humour him.

Me: Yeah, that's it. I watched it with Irv and the kids. Just last week!

I'm beginning to wonder if we've been too busy for the last 40 years to notice some of the finer points in each other's lives.

The Mr: Groceries? Again?

Me: Well, we gotta eat.

The Mr: Yeah, but I went to Thrifty's two days ago and got a huge list.

Me: I know. But we ate that stuff.

The Mr: How are we eating this much? Are we feeding your other family, too?

Me: Honey. I have NEVER been a once-a-weeker at the grocery store. I like buying fresh. Every day. Even when we shopped on Saturdays, all those years we were working, I'd still go the store and get something for dinner. I love doing that. It's what my mother did. It's what I do. I love to shop. I love to cook.

The Mr: And I love your cooking. And I appreciate that you do that. (Big hug here) I just never noticed until now.

Me: You're retired! You're home more now. Isn't life grand?

The Mr: You bet. We should celebrate and have your other family over for dinner. 

Zen and the Art of Neatening

Late as I am to most trends, I've only just heard of the "KonMari Method". You know how you hear something for the first time and then suddenly it pops up everywhere? Well, look out for "KonMari."

The brain child of a young woman named Marie Kondo, "KonMari" is causing a neatness revolution with the best-selling how-to book: "The Life Changing Magic of Tidying-Up: the Japanese Method of Decluttering and Organizing." It's available on Kondo's elegant, serene-looking web site: konmari.com. She also has a show on Netflix, and as well, has been featured in major publications and on TV shows, such as "Ellen." "Time" magazine lists Marie Kondo on their 100 most influential people in America. I found an entire page about her on "Goop." 

On "Goop," people!

Ms. Kondo's Method is all about achieving serenity through minimalism and is centered around getting rid of things — specifically, stuff we don't need. She urges us to keep only those things that "spark joy." In this purge of our everyday flotsam and jetsam, we must speak to each item, thank it for its service, and if it doesn't speak delight to our hearts, we must send it packing. And only then may we commence to neatly sorting and storing whatever remains, thus entering into a Nirvana-seeking realm of mindful organization. The web site even includes tutorials on how to fold clothing. Yes, you too, can turn your sweaters into Origami swans. 

But only the joy-giving sweaters, because the others get the heave ho to the Goodwill.  

How did I miss this until now? Where HAVE I been? Oh, I know! I have been Decluttering! My method has become known as, "The Life-Altering Circumstance of Moving Across the Continent to a Smaller House: the Retirees' Down-sizing Imperative." And let me note, right here, that if I had stopped to speak to each item, listening for its joyful song, before tossing it, we would still be in our Dayton basement, 6 months later, sorting through 41 years-worth of collected crap….er, treasures. 

And what of objects that aren't the least bit inspiring, but are downright functional? "Thank you for your service, stapler, but you're an ugly little sucker, so into the trash bin you go!" No. I brought the stapler.

At the time we packed up our household, I had no knowledge of "KonMari." But in spite of that, I think I did pretty well. We donated, recycled, re-homed, and tossed out a veritable Mt. Fuji-sized pile of goods that had potential to clutter up our soon-to-be-streamlined life. But, it wasn't enough. 108 boxes traveled with us to our new home. Way too much stuff to qualify as a true "KonMari tidying journey." 

For example, I certainly wish I had known about the Method when I packed 46 unopened, joyless packages of paper cocktail napkins. And where was "KonMari" when we decided to bring along a stationary bike that neither of us had used in 15 years? No joy there, let me tell you! And what was I thinking, bundling up 30 tangled strings of Christmas lights — that no longer worked?!? No mindfulness operating that day!

On the other hand, I had a "KonMari" moment with two dozen Mason jars from the salad-served-in-a-jam-jar days (a trend, see "Goop" above.) I caressed every one of those glass containers, and whispered to each, "One day I'll invite 24 for lunch and serve Tuna Nicoise in you. I promise," and lovingly tucked the whole works into a cardboard packing carton. (They are now languishing on a shelf in the garage waiting for a sudden urge to preserve peaches that might overcome me.)

In truth, I have always been something of a neat freak, so "KonMari Method" does hold some appeal for me. I see it as kind of a zen mash-up with the spare, rational, "Less is More," "Form Follows Function," "Have nothing in your home that you do not believe to be beautiful or useful," modernism that I learned in design school. Hey, maybe I'm actually way ahead of the trend!

So, if you will excuse me, I will now go and meditate over a closetful of clothing I have no place to wear. Oh, joy!