|The first lamp in the collection|
I was cleaning this weekend and as I typically do, I ended up doing some re-arranging. I decided a dresser beside my bed was slightly too crowded so I removed one of my lamps to allow for more space. I'm not sure exactly when I started collecting lamps, but like all things collectible there comes a point when I decided you could in fact have too many lamps in a room. Still, I love lamps! If I wanted to, I could probably trace my obsession back to when I first married and moved into the cedar shake shingle house with Prince Charming (See post from Dec. 19 2009). I'm most likely still suffering from light deficiency or something like that. Anyway, even though I didn't have room for that lamp on that table any more, didn't mean I wanted to put the lamp away forever. So I grabbed my pink cherub lamp (I went through a cherub phase that lasted years) and I walked from room to room trying to find an empty space that needed a pink cherub lamp. Finally I found if I scooted over a plant beside the T.V. and angle a picture of me and a friend just so, the cherub lamp would look just right without being too much. Problem solved! As I was scooting, and angling, I was thinking to myself how much crap I've collected that I just don't want to get rid of. Some of it for sentimental reason, some of it out of obligation, and some of it for an array of random reasons too many to count. I've gone through periods where I walked through the house just tossing stuff in a garage sale basket because after years of shopping, birthdays and other gift giving occasions it can all become too much. But even after much tossing there remains a lot I just can't part with. Some call it clutter, but to me that sounds a little harsh, so I just call it stuff. My stuff consist of good stuff, bad stuff, silly stuff, serious stuff and stuff I forgot I had. I remember back in the day when we barely had a candle for decoration. I distinctly remember the first picture we bought to hang on our pictureless wall. When I get tired of dusting my stuff I think back to those days when the walls were bare and dusting was a breeze. I don't mind spending Saturdays dusting my stuff because each and every item has some kind of memory or meaning which makes cleaning just a stroll down memory lane. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.