Clutter

It is interesting how seemingly mundane, annoying things in life can point to a deeper truth. I am surrounded by it, at times exasperated by it, forever struggling with and against it, sometimes it has me near tears in its persistent presence, sometimes it has me laughing: clutter. I grew up in a posh, luxurious super clean house free of the stuff. However, the chaos that was invisible, hidden, left its mark, and even though now my life is quite free of any chaos , my small house is plagued by physical clutter. I thought about it for quite some time, and realized that displaced people, either physically or culturally, emotionally speaking, who also struggle to stay abreast of economic stress, often have a lot of clutter around. We hang on to stuff, as best we can, surrounding ourselves with the rescued wreckage of childhood, relationship, cultural, economic displacement and hurt. We are like children who were told they had just ten minutes to pack, because it was time to hit the road, for whatever sad or tragic reason. Let's go! So, we packed what we could, broken memories, broken dreams hastily taped together, broken relationships in faded, outdated photographs, and off we went to wherever we could get, and are still trying to go. There is a softness, a vulnerability to the humility of my small curio shop of a house, it is the kind of place that has closets with no seeming bottom, where our cats can hide happily. A home where dust bunnies play leap frog noisily, where our dog can safely nap on the old futon in the living room, where all the china I have in the world consists of a small drawer  of mismatched silver ware, too many cups, one set of plates and bowls and one set of glasses that matches and a bunch of glassware that doesn't. A far cry from my mother's two complete sets of Limoges china, and her chest of Christophe silverware and crystal glasses going back to 1830 engraved with the family crest. Yes, she valued me all right, even let my 6 year old son hold a golden spoon out of her family collection. Such a sweet mother and grandmother. Clutter. My house has posters, and drawings my son made, and the small tapestries I do, and 3 small family paintings out of the hundreds and hundreds my family had. Some people are displaced due to wars, natural disasters, violence or just bad luck financially. I became a refugee of my own family, I had to flee them to survive. So, I took what I had, which was next to nothing, and they made sure it stayed that way.Yet, my home is cozy, warm, has love , security, peace and joy. I fails all the requirements my parents would ask of it, it has no luxury, no expensive furniture, no expensive art, or objets d'art, no Oriental rugs, no silver, crystal, no one to impress and nothing to impress them with. But is has something they sacrificed, a family who stands together and loves each other through thick and thin. So I think I will take the clutter, because the clutter kindly holds the treasure of the love I have with my husband and son in a most humble, quiet but real and very happy way. Things rarely are what they appear that way because it is sure true that not all that glitters is gold and not all that is humble happiness defies.