Overcoming Bloglessness


Daily Prompt: Can’t Get Enough

Daily Prompt: Can't Get Enough.

Have you ever been addicted to anything, or worried that you were? Have you ever spent too much time and effort on something that was a distraction from your real goals? Tell us about it. Photographers, artists, poets: show us ADDICTING.

Less Is More

I went through a long collecting phase. It started with duck salt and pepper sets. I dabbled in Royal Copenhagen plates and flowery, reticulated Bavarian dishes. I had a cupboard full of vases, a dozen ceramic teapots, vintage fruit crate labels, a rubber stamp collection and, most embarrassing of all, the Beanie Baby phase.

Husband asked one day, “Why don’t you try collecting money?”

Ha-ha! Funny man.

But that’s all in the past. I’m currently in a non-collecting, anti-clutter phase.

I just imagine, after I die, someone going through my house, planning an estate sale. Do I want them to be amazed by all the crap I’ve collected? Or do I want them to marvel at how tidy and organized everything is? I’d rather impress them with tidiness.

I donated a lot of junk when we moved into this house. I didn’t go to a single yard sale all summer. I’m not exactly collecting money, but I’m not amassing stuff anymore.

Less is more, that’s my new motto.


Daily Prompt: Clean House 2

Daily Prompt: Clean House.

Is there “junk” in your life? What kind? How do you get rid of it?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us JUNK.


This is my mother’s handiwork. She crocheted a lot when I was a kid, always this same pattern. She didn’t even have to look; her hands just went on auto pilot, working the needle, working the needle back and forth like a machine while she watched the afternoon movie. She made doilies and dresser scarves, tablecloths and bedspreads. At least, she’d say it was going to be a bedspread or a tablecloth. I don’t recall seeing one on a bed or table.

This piece had been in my linen closet forever. I don’t know if it was meant for bed or table. I wouldn’t have it on either. It looked unfinished, too small for bed or table and lacking a border. The only time I’d ever used it for anything was when I pinned it over the patio for a bit of shade on a hot day. That’s when I took this picture. After that day it went back into storage.

I kept the piece because I respect handiwork. I kept it out of a sense of obligation. It was the only thing I had, made by my mother, but I felt no fondness for it. In fact, it annoyed me every time I saw it, taking up precious storage space. Why do I keep something I have no use for, made by someone I couldn’t stand?

I chucked it one day during a cleaning spree. I didn’t want to be bothered with shuffling it around anymore. I took the thing to the garbage can, I dropped it in and I dusted myself off. It felt good. It felt cleansing. And I kind of wished she could have seen me do it.


Daily Prompt: Clean House 1

Daily Prompt: Clean House.

Is there “junk” in your life? What kind? How do you get rid of it? Photographers, artists, poets: show us JUNK


One Man’s Junk…

In 2000, after Dad died, we had an estate sale at his house. Husband and I went through every cupboard and closet deciding what to keep, what to toss and what to sell.

Everything in Dad’s house had sentimental value to me, but especially the things he made in his woodshop. I gave the handcrafted items to family and his good friends; people who would cherish them as much as I did. The only piece that nobody claimed was the shield and swords that hung over his bed.

I was fond of the piece because Dad made it, but I didn’t have a place to hang a shield and swords in my little house and nobody had asked for it, so it stayed on the wall, priced to sell at the estate sale.

It didn’t sell. I was a little bit offended that it didn’t sell. What’s wrong with people? My Dad made this! It’s a work of art, but nobody wanted it. I guess not many folks have medieval décor nowadays.

I took pity on the shield and brought it home rather than donate it. I stored under it under my bed until the neighborhood’s annual yard sale event when, once again it went up for sale. I don’t recall what price I’d put on it, but it wasn’t much; a few bucks. Throughout the day people admired the workmanship, but nobody wanted to take it home. I felt kind of sad for the shield.

Late in the day, as the sale was ending, a woman came by with a skinny little boy, about six years old, maybe seven. The shield, propped up against the fence, caught his eye. He stooped to examine it while his momma checked out the vases and tchotchkes.

“How much is this?”, he asked.

“If you like it, you can have it for free,” I said. I told him my daddy made it.

“Really?!” His brown eyes lit up.

I got teary-eyed as he walked away, carrying the cumbersome treasure that was almost as large as he. Another little piece of Dad, going away. I was glad the shield was going to someone who loved it.

Dad would have been pleased too.