It's Not Easy Having Green
"Oh, no!" shrieked the Poor Little Rich Girl, a Damsel in Distress. "I must keep the Waterford crystal!"
Really, The Rich Damsel in Distress did, at the request of her Organizer, unload all of her glasses sets from her cabinets. The crystal goblets, the glass tumblers, the plastic tumblers, the beer flytes, the wine glasses, the beer steins, the shot glasses, the juice glasses, the jelly glasses.
And this was just our Damsel's glasses, not the mugs from as far away as Iceland or as close as the local Egret's Nest (Hello again Mr. Egret!)or the plates, or the dessert plates, the bread plates, the soup bowls . . . .
And Lo, the glasses covered the whole counter, a 6 X 4 foot counter, so that it looked like Lake Superior in the spring, the ice cracking and not flowing, all crashed together, but beautiful, the light glinting off the glass--which is really molten sand--but not glinting off the plastic tumblers, of course.
And the Organizer said, "This is good. Now save only what you love."
It really was like Sophie's Choice, or King Solomon Cutting the Baby in Half.
It wasn't hard to love the Waterford Crystal, even though our Damsel never used it, fearful of breaking it. The owl sippy cup was a different story. The designs were faded, so the cup looked less like an owl, and more like a white lamb, and the plastic straw that made any kind of sipping possible was missing, so it was more like a shake-the-milk-out-on-the-table-and-lick-it-up cup.
But it was the first cup her daughter Heather used after giving up the bottle.
The Great Organizer frowned. "But it is not beautiful. How can you love it?"
Our Damsel thought of all of those things--and people--in her life who were not beautiful, but she loved them anyway, including her daughter Heather, who was not beautiful. Her eyes were too close together, and her nose too long and pointed. But she loved her. Our Damsel even thought she was beautiful, though not in a classic way, a super-model way, only when the light glanced off her cheek way.
The Great Organizer broke into our Damsel's reverie.
"You must choose! This box is for trash. This box is for the thrift store. This box is to keep!"
Our Damsel looked tentatively into the keep box. There were the Waterford crystal glasses she never used. She then looked into the trash box. There was the faded lamb, alone, and sad, Damsel thought, though it was likely just projection.
"Holding onto that broken cup is unhealthy," growled the Great Organizer. She whisked the trash box out of the room before our Damsel could change her mind.
(Unbeknownst to the Great Organizer, our Damsel rescued the white lamb--or was it an owl, perhaps an egret!--from the box before it was unloaded in the trash.)
And our Damsel lived happily ever after with her Waterford Crystal glasses, and crystal candy dishes, and serving bowls, and Spode dinnerware, and fragile china tea cups and . . . . and the plastic sippy cup shoved to the back of her lingerie drawer.
The End.
Not.
It has occurred to me that it is primarily the comfortable, the well-to-do, the upper middle class--probably not really rich people, they have gigantic mansions to hide away their stuff--whatever you want to call us--yes, us, we own computers and have free time to write stupid blogs and read them (please read mine!)--it is primarily the better off who have gobs of stuff, too many glasses, plates, clothes, flat wear, papers, books, linens, towels, pillows, figurines, chatzkas (however you spell that), pens, pencils, dog and cat toys, dogs and cats, rugs, chairs, tables, lamps--many don't work--pianos, costume jewelry, scarves, winter coats and hats, old tires, pots and pans, tomatoes, Egrets . . . .
Too many, too many, one family I know, lives in one room, one mom and four kids, two beds, one window. A shared kitchen with other residents. Another mom I know, herself, two small children, live with her mom and dad and brother in a one-bedroom apartment. Diapers and toys fight for space with boxes of commodities and laundry baskets of clean clothes, because there isn't enough drawer space. The baby is sleeping in one of the drawers.
Cluttered? Yes. But everything you can put your hands on is a necessity. And counter space? There's already stuff piled there, and every last paper cup and paper plate is needed.
Not much counter space, but you could probably pile most of what little they own on there, like a giant Jenga tower. Hey! Make a game of it! Pull out the socks, and see if the tower stands or falls!
At the beginning, I promised I wouldn't make you feel guilty about the stuff you have. But it's around 0 degrees, with more than a foot of snow on the ground. Still, please don't feel guilty about the stuff you have because of my rant.
And you know--I'm going to say it, though it's trite, there's still some wisdom in it--It's not what you have or don't have that makes you rich or poor. I don't think we can hear that enough.
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