clean sweep

A number of factors over the last several months inspired the rampage I went on today, through the house, every room, closet and cranny, mercilessly chucking anything and everything that couldn't first convince me it served a purpose outside consuming precious space.
Topping the list of reasons, I suppose, is the fact that I have recently aquired a husband, who also owns things and would like very much to have a place to put them (that's not at his parents house).

Add to that my recent travels around England and the uber cool homes I visited that were orderly and charming and not teeming with way too much anything (the exception being the hairbrush collection in Clederscroft B&B in Cornwall and a neighbouring tearoom that had dozens upon dozens and dozens and dozens of tea cups - NOT to photograph - hanging from the ceiling).

Also, it's spring. The sun is out. The air is fresh and rejuvinating and I actually feel, for a change, like organizing and cleaning.

And lastly - but perhaps most importantly - I helped my mum's friend (who will remain nameless but she's now my next-door-neighbour) move before Christmas and you wouldn't believe her rooms full of JUNK - we're talking floor to ceiling with boxes in every room, with little paths carved out between them for walking space, and that's not just because she was moving. It seriously made me question how valuable things are when you have so many that they control you and not the other way round.

So I've started a pile, in the studio, with books, hair curlers, a crimping iron, hats I haven't worn in five years, hair accessories, clothes, clothes, more clothes, little boxes, a smashed-and-glues-together-again tea set, purses, shoes, CDs, blankets, trinkets . . . in short, an accumulation of things I've been holding onto - whether through greed or sentimentality - for waaaaaaay to long.

Portrait of a Junk Pile: a detail from my collection

Time to liberate them. And me.

We're having a garage sale May 21 - me, my mum, my sister, my grandma and anyone else who's trash might be someone's treasure (Judy, perhaps??). What doesn't sell (at least of my things) will be donated to ADRA shortly after. It's not coming home.

And now, before I start again, I want to ask myself, why? Why do I hold onto these things? Little scraps of paper, a
theatre ticket, a newspaper clipping, an old pair of shoes worn someplace interesting? They're not the memory itself, but to venerate them by holding on when what you really need is some space ... it really is a kind of madness. Like a little squirrel collecting way more nuts than it will ever eat, just because it can. It's a gluttony of a different sort. And I think I'm ready for a material diet.

The problem is, it's after it's all gone that you suddenly need just exactly the pair of shoes you just sold because they're the only ones that would go with a new dress. Or, after not needing a wrench for the seven years I've lived here, the week after someone else buys it is when I'll have some sort of emergency that that wrench could have helped me out of. It never fails. But I'm going to risk it. I'll buy another wrench, if the situation warrents. For now, Everything! Must! Goooo!

I'll let you know how well it goes.

london calling

This will likely be the last batch I post for a few days, since we are taking off for Cornwall tomorrow morning, early, and I won't have internet access at my beck and call.

Scenes from Camden Town:

Kyle among the Camden crowds

The end of the Long Walk (which was interupted on the original day by me tripping over a mooring post or similar and gashing my leg. Today, two days later, Amanda took Kyle and I the remaining distance, from St. Paul's Cathedral to the Tower of London.

Me and Kyle in front of the dome of St. Paul's

Kyle and Amanda exploring a white box exhibit at the Tate Modern

Our Beefeater/tour guide inside the Tower of London

life, london

More pics from our adventures in Londres.


Outside the Lazy Daisy Cafe on Portabello Road in Notting Hill ...

Where Kyle and I had breakfast ...

Followed by a stroll through Kensington Garden ...

Kensington Palace, former home of Princess Diana

Statue of Peter Pan:

The Long Walk, from Notting Hill to Southbank:

Amanda and Peter, our guides

Me and Kyle in front of Wellington Arch

Guards in front of Buckingham Palace:

The Serpentine in St. James' Park, where Mrs. Dalloway tossed a shilling

Classic London shot: red telephone box, Big Ben/Houses of Parliament and a red, double decker bus. Also pictured, Peter, Amanda and Kyle.

Scenes from Speakers Corner, where freaks can rant about anything:

oh to be in england now that april's here

A picture's worth a thousand words, they say, so instead of writing in detail about my adventures across the pond I give you an annotated photo album. Go ahead, be envious.


Amanda's and Peter's flat, in Notting Hill, London

Me, having lunch in the crypt-like basement of Ponti's in Covent Garden:

The National Gallery in Trafalger Square, London, where we soaked up some sun and did some people watching.

Kyle feeding pigeons in front of the National Gallery:

Front of The British Museum, which is supported with Greek Ionic columns (a useful bit of trivia I learned in Fine Arts class, way to many years ago)

Things I saw in the British Museum:

The eventful chiming of the clock on the Swiss Building in Piccadilly. The bells they ring and the chimes they chime and little people and animals dance:

Inside the Queen's Theatre on Shaftsbury, where we saw Les Miserable last night: