I’m allergic to dust—seriously. A few years ago when I went
to the allergist for the first time, after some poking and scratching at my
surfaces, he discovered that I’m allergic to dust, grass, trees, and cats.
I
like cats. I had one for nine years, but then its nine lives ran out and I
didn’t have a cat anymore.
I don’t like dust. I mostly leave it alone. I tend
to treat it like I treat strange dogs, I walk by it quietly pretending to
ignore it so it won’t bite me.
At this point you can start humming “Another one Bites the
Dust” by Queen.
Last Monday, I began purging in my dining room. If you
decide to purge, don’t do it in front of others. It can get ugly. Anyway, my
urge to purge comes from an overwhelming need to own less. My eyes are
constantly assaulted by STUFF. The fact that we have walls of open bookcases in
the living room and dining room doesn’t help (although they do look nice—John
built them, so of course, they’re wonderful).
My urge to purge is also inspired by Ann Amenta, my dear
friend who had a stroke last September. Ann is the most generous person I know,
she always gives dollars to homeless people, and months ago—even before the
stroke—she gathered piles of clothes and books and treasures from her house and
delivered them to a charity...not once asking for a receipt.
After seeing Ann last Monday, I decided it was time to
tackle the dining room shelves. I should mention here that Ann sent me home
with six white bumpy bowls and a stack of square white little plates, when John
saw them he slapped himself on the forehead. Too many dishes. Too many bowls.
To make room for Ann’s presents I better start elimination. Purgery was about
to happen.
By the time I finished culling, the dining room table was crammed
with goodies someone else would love (and dust). But all the Windex in the
Costco jug couldn’t tame the dust. My nose was dripping like an outdoor faucet
you accidently run into with your father’s car. (Don’t take that personally,
Laura). And then the sore throat came along to keep the runny nose company.
 |
| Loaded dining room table |
So for the rest of the week I sat on John’s recliner
sniffin’ and drippin’. The massive (not exaggerating) allergy attack turned
into a bad cold, then to avoid pneumonia the doc put me on antibiotics.
But, listen to this, all the time sitting in the
chair I was itching to sort out more bookcases and closets. Purging is highly
addictive (Ann warned me).
My granddaughter, Kristen, is coming this afternoon to
select treasures from the dining room table. Grandson, Ryan, wants to snag a
few goodies too. The dining room
cabinets look emptier and better than ever, and John gave me a dust mask from
his workshop (the garage).
 |
| Purged cabinets |
Next week more purging will happen! Dust be damned. Is an addiction something you do even when you know there
might be suffering afterwards?
***
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