Give Me Clutter or Give Me Death

One of my oldest treasures. A small hand puppet with a wooden face. Bought at an antique shop 

in El Paso, Illinois when I was 12.

Thrift store finds, gifts and original art by my uncle Mark Mittlesteadt.

Tyler, Coltrane and I recently moved to Las Vegas. We ordered a 14’ U-Haul truck per A-1 Rental’s suggestion when I told them we lived in a 900 sq ft apartment. HA! I didn’t take a picture of the inside of the truck because I was too busy shouting expletives in my head out of embarrassment that I had so much freaking stuff, but it was packed, quite literally, top to bottom, front to back, side to side. My eternal gratitude goes out to Ben Mathews, Sean Poole and Andrew Pincock for their genius and optimism at making everything I couldn't part with fit.

Every family needs a Kewpie photo-bomber. And, yes, that shelf was so full,
it was bowing in the middle.

I’ve never been a minimalist. My bedroom growing up had walls covered in photographs and posters and bookshelves full of books and tchotchkes (don’t you just love the spelling of that word?), all of which was kept, boxed up and moved to my first married-person studio apartment. After crying for three days from claustrophobia, I parted with about a tenth of my things and had a garage sale. We moved three more times since then and again, only parted with a couple of boxes each time. Keep in mind, I had not stopped accumulating - when you see a street sign at an antique shop with your dad that says “FERTILE” on it, it must be bought and kept without negotiation. When your mom gives you a stack of vintage women’s magazines from the 1920s-60s, you accept them, savor that vintage paper smell, and giggle at the misogynistic advertisements for years to keep the past alive. And some things are just plain useful and I don't want to have to buy them again.

The creepier, the better, I always say. And that cookie jar was purchased by my
equally unique sister at a thrift store in Merrill, WI. Midwest thrifting is
where it's at.

Have you any idea how many articles, books, blogs, and YouTube videos are dedicated to the subject of de-cluttering and simplifying your life and space? There are times I feel bombarded by them, as if the only way to find happiness and peace is to get rid of all of your crap and create a home that is Architectural Digest magazine worthy. But, one day, I read an article that brought tears to my eyes about a woman who, with her family, had decided to build a small, eco-friendly home, which required some serious downsizing. She remembered telling herself how free and light she would feel at getting rid of things, but after her yard sale, all she felt was that she “deeply missed [her] stuff.”

Those boxes are full of wonderful, tiny things: doll parts,
keys, bird''s nests, dollhouse furniture and more! All
organized by type and labeled.

For the first time ever, my feelings about my “things” were validated. I love my stuff. I love my “Language of the Whistles” card table, my stuffed puffin with its leather beak and feet, my Yamaha CP-70 Electric/Acoustic grand piano that weighs a thousand pounds but is just too unique and weird and awesome to ever let go. These things are irreplaceable, make me think of my sweet and loving family and childhood, and make me happy when I look at them. And, inevitably, they will follow me to every residence until, upon my death, my children will have to make that difficult decision to keep it or throw it away.

Appropriately positioned, I thought.

Instead of feeling embarrassed while the missionaries unloaded our 14’ truck, I was excited to be reunited with my strange treasures and find a place for them in my new home. My stuff is awesome, my decorating style is eccentric and a little cluttered, but I like it. And to anyone who disagrees, I’m sad for you and your boring and editorially pleasing home.