UPGRADES
And letting go of old stuff.
One thing’s for sure, I’m not going to deepen any relationships or find a new vision sitting at home on my couch and waiting for the phone to ring.
And besides that, the phone doesn’t “ring” anymore. The ring tone of the month seems to be a mix of drum circle and buzz saw.
Nobody is calling.
Talking on the phone may be a thing of the past, which makes me a bit sad. A friend suggested recently that I first text the person I want to call and ask them when they might have time to talk. Good advice? Eh, I suppose so … it’s simpler than voicemail, but it kind of makes every call seem like a business transaction. And what if I have exciting news, like I just won the lottery?! However, that’s probably not the best example. I’ve heard friends and relatives come out of the woodwork and pounce on new lottery winners. But my point is that making an appointment to talk takes the wind out of my sails. I can only guess that others might feel the same way because, as I said, nobody is calling.
Two choices quickly come to mind. I can log on to my social media and see what everyone else is doing and spend the afternoon wishing I was in Italy or pining after new shoes, a designer wardrobe, or a thicker head of hair only to emerge as the sun is setting and wondering where the day went. Can you tell I’ve done this before?! Or I can get up and venture out.
The sun is shining. Georgia and I should go for a drive! Georgia is my silver convertible Porsche Boxter, and she has been sequestered in the garage, hidden under piles of this and that for weeks. Oh, snap! Where are my keys? As I root around, I remember that Georgia’s key fob stopped working … I put it in a safe place to remind me to get a new battery … Oh, forget it.
The keys are nowhere to be found, and the sunlight is ticking away. Not wanting to waste any more time, I head for the shed to dig out my beach bike. Side bar—I haven’t named the beach bike—not yet anyway. My naming formula thus far is to name only inanimate motorized objects: Ritchie the Roomba, Frank the Ford Truck, Georgia the Boxter … and so on.
At this point, you might be wondering why all my modes of transportation are buried, which forces me to admit that every storge space inside and outside my house is piled high with stuff. I’ve been known to scoff at the “poor suckers” who spend hundreds of dollars each month to store their belongings, but now I’m wondering if they are the ones that are doing it right.
Where did all this stuff come from?
Georgia was buried under bolts of fabric, pieces of cut foam, and pillow forms. Which makes sense, Georgia shares her space with my upholstery workroom. But the pile she’s under, leftovers from completed jobs, or purchases of highly discounted fabrics that I had planned to make into pillows and curtains for myself someday, have been there so long the colors and prints are out of fashion.
Same scenario, different location for my beach bike. My bike was buried under a pop-up sunshade, a box of bean bags and a deflated pool float, all of which needed to be repaired in one way or another. Have you heard the saying about house painters? It goes something like, “The house in need of new paint the most is the one owned by a house painter”. Well, I’m the fixer! The self-proclaimed repair person, and I’m surrounded by all this broken stuff!
Just like sitting on my couch waiting for the phone to ring is not going to help me find my new vision, neither is hanging on to this old stuff. No, I’m not going to run out and get a storage cubicle. I think it’s time for some serious upgrades.
Thank you for reading my Empty Mess! Find over 100 stories in my new book. Click the cover for more. XO, ~Stephanie
I saw Georgia when I was out and about during our “brief warming period” 🤣. I need to pump up the tires on my beach bike. We should pick a “low wind day” and take the girls out for a spin!
Love this! I can relate to much of what you shared, but I must admit that I am not big on unplanned phone calls these days. I’d love to see Georgia.