poop beetle: stuff 7.2002 I donated a bunch of books to the library today. At least I hope I donated them. The local library has started closing on Saturdays. I stuffed the return bin until they were piled too high to stuff any more, then dumped the rest on a pile of other "donations" sitting next to the door. If it doesn't rain, I will have done a very fine thing. My friend Jim cleaned out the house his mother had lived in for 25 years. We got some mighty cool kids furniture circa 1970's- orange and yellow- much better quality than the K-mart fiber board we had before- and a whole lot of books, because Jim's mom was a Rhodes Scholar and Jim knows how much Asad and I love to read. It was an exceptionally sweet gesture- lugging that furniture out to our house + bags upon bags of books. But I will never read Ezra Pound's Cantos or a History of Renaissance Art- nor even Herman Hess' Steppanwolf (I know this because I've been given at least 1/2 dozen copies over the years, carriad them from state to state- and it has not happened yet.) I can't seem to get past the first few pages of "How Stella Got Her Groove Back", but it could be I feel pressured by owning three copies. And Amy Tan's the Joy Luck Club- I read it. It was great. I passed my copy on to someone else, years ago. I donated no fewer than 4 copies today and I suspect I have more in the basement. I feel overwhelmed by stuff. Families generally have a lot, but I've realized part of the problem is I can not refuse stuff people want to give me. With kids especially- there are always bags of toys and clothes- sometimes handed over the fence, sometimes surreptitiously left on the doorstep. For a long time I thought it was really charming, it made me feel I'd arrived- my neighbors thought of me when they cleaned out their basements. A while back I got three bicycles in two days (actually 4 bicycles in three days if you count the one my husband bought me.) I had them on the porch waiting to be stored in the basement. All but the rusty 10 speed from Dan across the street have disappeared. And it was a relief. Almost worth losing the new one. And I'm sure they were probably taken by people who needed them, or at least people who knew people who needed them . . . or just might want them . . . or knew others who might.
Besides accepting stuff, I also give stuff. The thing is some of this stuff has been returning to me along with new stuff. Around and around it goes the same snowsuits, the same fisher price player pianos. It sounds odd, but it feels as if there is an awful lot riding on this. The more important the relationship/ or the closer the neighbor, the harder it is to find a reason to say no. If you don't accept you feel like people will think you're a snob- or worse, that you're rejecting them- placing yourself outside or above this generous, well-meaning, connecting in a cold, cold world- cycle of stuff.
At least that's how I've felt, (although wondered I was being weird or hypersensitive.) But then Friday, I got a call from the mother of a little boy who goes to the same babysitter as my youngest. She used to live behind me. Her boy, Paulie is thinner, but taller than mine + she moved to the suburbs last fall (lot's teething rings, alphabet blocks and outfits passed back and forth). I hadn't heard from her in several months. She called me from work just to say hello, but there's one more thing & I'm pretty sure I heard desperation. Our sitter, Terri wants to give her a single bed because she thought it would be perfect for her son + she wants to get it out of her basement. The mother really wants the single bed- did in fact agree to take the bed but her husband says they don't have room, plus Paulie prefers to sleep on the floor. BUT won't Haaris be ready for a bed pretty soon? And couldn't you store it in your basement until then? Maybe you'll like this one better than the one you already have? Or know someone who will?
