Home
Home
After living with roommates one way or another for years I can still really enjoy my little home. All mine. Well, mine and the bank’s but hey, I don’t have to share with anybody. I can totally do whatever I please. Be awake in the middle of the night, go to sleep in the middle of the day. Not that I often sleep during the day, but I could.
Stuff
My home is filled with stuff. Still I don’t really care much for materialistic things. I can do without jewelry, expensive furniture and upholstery. Everything in my house is filled with stories. Every item has its own memories. And at times I can just sit, look around and feel the richest woman on this planet.
Value
Its value is not monetary. Other people probably wouldn’t want it if I gave it away for free. ‘Nah junk!’ no thank you. But to me, it’s precious. My home is small, so I can’t fit much more stuff in. That’s why I started to bravely discard some knick knacks I thought I could do without. Who needs 12 plates, right? And 24 cups? No, not me. My table seats 4 people at the most. Even when I throw a little buffet-style dinner party, not more than 10 people fit in my living room.
Throw it out
So, I decided I would throw anything I hadn’t used in over a year, out. It didn’t go very well. Every item told me its own story. ‘Have you forgotten, Ellen, how much fun we had once upon a time? And now I’m gonna end my days in the garbage can?’ No, couldn’t do it.
Exceptions
Of course there were few exceptions. A smudged glass I could never get to sparkle again. A broken plate. Burnt candles that maybe would give me another 10 minutes of light. Gone, all of them. One thing I noticed though, is that when you start to de-clutter, so many forgotten memories pop up.
Mom’s home
We’re emptying my moms’ home. She’s gone and we get to keep her life in memories. It’s probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. ‘Cause everything, literally everything, has its own meaning. But my house is filled. I cannot put anything else in there. My sister’s place is pretty much full as well. So we had to be strict.
Papers
Everything paper and writing supplies I have to still fit in. My sister takes everything to do with paint and painting supplies. My dad wrote tens and tens of diaries, I found a spot in my bookcase. A few photographs, calligraphy, pens, they are safe. An old (maybe even antique) letter scale found its way to my desk. And books. So many books.
Around
I look around. My house is my home. I love it. I feel very grateful and happy to be home. Home amongst all my memories. Now don’t think I’m this old spinster only living from memories. I plan to make many, many more each and every day. But as long as I have a base, a home, to come back to, I’m the luckiest woman in the world.
Topfan
Topfan
Last week I got a message from Facebook that I earned a badge. You’ve probably received this before, as well. From now on I could tell the world I was a ‘topfan’ after I reacted a couple of times to a page I liked. I laughed, ’cause who decides wether I am a topfan and does that make me different somehow? Of course it’s a positive thing and meant to make you happy.
Rewards
I’m all for rewards. The more the better. But I question this badge. Some time ago, some people working in admin at Facebook decided to reward people who took the time and effort to comment more than once on a subject/person on Facebook. ‘Let’s give them a badge,’ they must’ve thought. This way they will feel better about themselves.
Value
Apparently it works, ’cause I see people picked it up. There are lots of topfans around. It’s really fine with me. I won’t judge anyone. I just wonder if there is such a thing as a ‘bottom fan, a not-so-topfan, a less than serious fan’ or any other kind of fan. And who is to decide which sticker I get to have? And does this make me feel any more important than somebody who’s not a topfan, yet?
Past
Maybe it’s still got something to do with my past. I used to be a topfan of Donny Osmond as a young teenager. My room was filled with posters and I cried every time I heard ‘Puppy love’. Of course I was teased in school. But I couldn’t care less. I was fan and I loved this kid. But this was then and now is now. I’m no fan anymore.
Admiration
Now I do admire people, lots of them in fact. There are men and women I gladly get inspired by. I take their examples and try to incorporate their actions in my life. But never before I make them mine first. Never to blindly copy. A badge is nice, it’s like a medal. But I would rather really deserve one by expanding my limits, then to just comment on something someone else did. Unless I take a personal or global chance to make a change.
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