Monthly Archives: January 2012

Purging: 112 things in 01/2012!

This year, possibly spurred on by the overwhelming vision of my grandmother’s closet with its hundreds of hats and shoes and evening gowns (which we encountered head-on during our Christmas vacation, in the Wisconsin leg of our trip), my husband decided that we needed to repeat last year’s purging exercise.

And did I say “closet” up there? Because I meant closets.

Plural.

(there’s Heidi’s foot–see it?–disappearing into what appeared to be a wall of scarves; more clothes lie behind)

In fact, in Mama Kitty’s case it may be closetssssss (double squared plural). You’ll only know what I’m talking about if you’ve been there in person and experienced the fashion explosions happening all over the house.

Like the hats in the front hall, which represent not even a fraction of the headgear you will encounter as you wander through the house.

Just to give you a little insight into the Mad Hatter Wonderland of my grandparents’ eccentric and treasure-filled house, there’s even a mannequin in a bathtub in the livingroom.

And a mannequin by the mantel.

And that’s just the livingroom, folks. You don’t want to see the basement. I repeat–you don’t want to see the basement.

Or maybe you do.

Okay, fine.

Here’s the basement.

My husband is exclaiming in bewilderment–possibly something like “What kind of family did I marry into??”

Of course, he’s over 6 years late asking that question.

There comes a point where it’s futile to even ask.

But because I’m all about getting to the bottom of things, I’ll spill the beans. The answer is: you married into a family whose pater familias (Big Jake) has stocked the basement with enough food to feed the entire family for 1 year.

I know where I’ll be if the zombocalypse I’ve been hearing about ever breaks loose: feeding on cans of evaporated milk, popcorn, beans, and dented cans of clam chowder in the basement.

Of course, if the zombies learn how to access the internet, they may be able to track me down based on that disclosure. But then again, I’ve always liked living on the edge.

But I digress! (big time) Remember–exactly one year ago–the 111 things in 1/11 project that my friend Jenny initiated? It all started here . . .

. . . continued here with the emotional roller coaster of clearing out old college papers . . .

. . . and here with the trashing of my beloved but holey lamb socks (among others) . . .

. . . and finally here, with a clean-out of old make-up and defunct cassette tapes.

All in all, I ended up getting rid of about 120 things that I totally didn’t need. Whoopee!

So this year we will purge again! And we’re both looking forward to it. After experiencing a certain degree of materialism in the air during the holidays (if you know what I mean), we felt the need to rid ourselves immediately of as much stuff as possible. Old VHS tapes (those are so last-century), unused kitchen paraphenalia, paper files that are just taking up space, etc. I may even attack my jewelry drawer again, which is once more a tangled, mangled mess.

If any of you would like to engage in this exercise along with me this month, please send me the links to your posts, and I’ll link to your blogs as I write about our whirlwind of de-stuffifying!

It’s going to be satisfying, cleansing, and probably full of silliness.

Love,

Purging Petronilla

Behind the Scenes at the Museum

I’ve been a little afraid of writing this book review. Why? Because I love the book so much, and I don’t think I can convey how awesome it is without reproducing the entire thing here for you to simply read directly.

The front of my edition calls it “darkly comic” and that is oh-so-accurate. To that I would add evocative, beautiful, poignant, understated, humorous, heartbreaking, original.

I first read this book by accident. I had just won a prize for the best short story in my grade–I think I was in 9th grade at the time. The prize was a gift certificate for 12,000 pesetas (about $120) at a bookstore. So I went, and I shopped with a spontaneity that only free money could allow. I bought this book because the title and cover drew me in (it was called “Entre bastidores” in the Spanish translation) and fell in love with it.

Then I went to college, and spotted the book in its original English at the college bookstore. It was used, and cheap–I snatched it up. And I fell in love with it again. I recently re-read it, and realized that I needed to blog about it immediately.

The narrator, Ruby Lennox, starts speaking at the moment of her conception, with the exclamation “I exist!” The writing is realistic and revelatory of human nature in its details, but it blends in almost magical elements seamlessly, such as the case of Ruby being able to speak to us from the womb. Don’t get me wrong–this book isn’t part of the South American magical realism genre–it’s something totally different. In its own class, in my opinion.

In between Ruby’s accounts of daily life in York living above the pet shop with a philandering father and a mother who takes out her rage by cleaning obsessively, there are chapters that spin off into the past. Ruby may come across an old button that’s been kicking around in the attic, or her mother may use a particular expression that her own mother used, and with these tidbits as springboards, an omniscient narrator segues into a tale about one of Ruby’s ancestors. Like her great grandmother, who ran off with a traveling photographer one hot and dusty night. Or her grandmother, losing her lovers to the war and alienating her sister. Her aunt, who hopped on a boat to America with her fatherless baby. Her own mother, trying desperately to be interesting, beautiful, and plucky, but ending up in a marriage that has her butting her head up against the walls of her own soul.

As Ruby grows up with her two older sisters–the know-it-all, melancholy Patricia and the bossy and attention-getting Gillian–she realizes little by little that there’s a family mystery she has been exluded from. Shadowy memories and evasive answers eventually drive her to find out what exactly she has lost.

When I finish this book, my heart aches. It ached so much this time around that I went and wrote a song, which maybe one day I’ll share with you here. Kate Atkinson is an incredible writer, and this book is one of my favorites of all times.

If you like her style, her novel “Human Croquet” is also fabulous, with the narrator/main character slipping in and out of time. In all her works, Kate Atkinson gravitates towards the themes of motherhood, the loss of loved ones, the bond of sisters, and the mystery of memory. I hope you enjoy her work as much as I do!