In the process of getting ready to move, I've emptied almost all flat surfaces in our house of their ... ummm... charming collection of eclectic ... ummm... stuff.
And it's getting to me.
Sure, I've left the pictures on the wall and most of the stuff is still INSIDE the cupboards, but my library and kitchen shelves are bare. The old school desk and dry sink in my entry way are bare. Everywhere I look all I see are flat surfaces unpunctuated by cool and pseudo-clutterlike things.
Okay. Mostly cool things.
Okay. Some cool things.
And so last night when we met my parents for a birthday dinner for my Mom (homemade chicken and dumplings for me, thank you very much) and I noticed a sign for a Thursday night consignment auction I INSISTED that Mr. Jenny give me a few minutes to check it out.
Lots and lots of stuff.
The item being auctioned when I went in the store was a really neat Roseville vase. It was brown. And I wanted it.
Mr. Jenny must have noticed the look on my face because he said, "Wait! Don't bid on that! I think you have one like it!"
Of course, I knew I had one like it. Of course, I wasn't going to bid. Of course, I wasn't thinking how neat it would be to have a pair of them!
Doesn't he know you have to register before you can bid?
I looked around the room to see where you could register and noticed lots of depression glass, a cool punch bowl, a big pile of dusty old books, some old records...
Mr. Jenny didn't seem very comfortable with me looking around, because I quickly found myself being pulled toward the door by a very determined husband.
"Don't even think about it," he said, "Seriously, I think you packed all that exact same stuff away."
"Think about what?" I replied innocently. "But I miss it. Miss my stuff. I feel like a monk. I need some stuff."
No, I'm pretty sure I don't have an addictive type personality. Why do you ask?
"Look at the boxes," he muttered, "Why do you feel like a monk? You have some stuff. It's just in the boxes. Maybe you could draw some pictures on the outside of the boxes of some of your stuff and that would make you feel better."
"It would be dumb to draw stuff on the boxes...hmmm...but maybe that would be cool...but I don't have time to draw stuff on the boxes...and a monk, you know? In an austere ... ummm... place where Monk's live...with no stuff... you know???...bare? Geez, keep up here buddy!"
Mr. Jenny sighed.
And gave me 'the look'.
So I meekly followed him to the car. Because I am extremely docile like that.
When we got in the car, Mr. Jenny tried to talk me down. "Look how much you've gotten packed. If you got something else you'd just have to pack it right? And just think, maybe after we move you can get rid of some of your ... ummm... stuff ... and get new stuff ... and blah, blah, blah..."
I patted his hand.
And agreed with him.
As if I didn't know all that.
As if I would buy more stuff while in the process of moving.
As if I would even WANT to bid on those two jadeite coffee mugs at the auction house.
Jadeite coffee mugs.
Jadeite coffee mugs.
Those are small.
And don't take up much room.
And, technically, they're not really 'stuff' because you can use them.
I may have to sneak out next Thursday and go to the auction. They might have more coffee mugs then.
Or some cool bowls with polka dots on them.
Well gosh. The possibilites are just endless.
Just don't tell Mr. Jenny we had this little conversation, please!