We send the children there when they’re being punished (I’m kidding). We joke about it, have nightmares about it, worry about it. But we’ve never done anything about it. Until yesterday. The utility room. Home of the boiler, the hot water heater, countless pipes and switches. Oh, and tote boxes. I swear to you (I would never lie) I used to have the utility room organized years ago. The Christmas decorations were in neatly labeled tote boxes in the far corner on shelves. All of my journals were in neatly labeled totes in groups of 5 years, there, over on the left in the corner on those shelves. The kids’s totes full of their baby clothes, books, dishes, silver and stuffed animals? Kari’s was on the left, Erik’s in the middle, and Bill’s on the right. Then came the basement remodel. Old pillows and blankets and bedspreads shoved in with broken bedframes and dusty pictures stacked in corners next to unused workout equipment from upstairs. The kids’s constant moves creating a permanent flow of old shoes and clothes, dishes and books. Oh, then there was the flood of ‘07. And Hubby being in charge of putting the Christmas decorations back (he didn’t put them on the right in the corner - I still can’t find the tree stand). The new flow of totes from Mom and Dad’s house evacuation now rendered the room unnavigatable. Is that a word? It is now. If you look it up in the dictionary it will say, “See Susie’s utility room.”
I don’t know what happened. I think it was the evacuation and stark reality of looking at an entire house of ‘stuff’ and having to figure out in a few hours what was most important. It’s like every nightmare I’ve ever had. It’s the end of the world and I have to run, have to grab what I can and leave the house. What do I take? I realize I have too much stuff, and you know I’m not just talking about material things. I carry so many things inside of me sometimes it’s hard to move. I never forget. I think a lot. I hold onto things. But with the rush of the Missouri waters into my river house I felt my white-tipped fingers releasing their grip on this material world a little bit, and feeling it still 193 miles east, stacking the valuables into a rented storage space in Fargo, I had the idea. Why not move more stuff down to the unit and let my sisters go through it all, then get rid of what they don’t want? 10 big tote boxes of family photos, scrapbooks, papers, on and on. So I feel the pinch in my back as I start lifting heavy totes again, on the way to the Boy’s Ranch, on the way to the dumpster, on the way to the storage unit. I look at the emptying shelves in the utility room and feel like I can breathe a little easier. If my kids can go through their tote boxes of treasures we’ll be able to walk in there again.
I don’t know what it ALL means, but I know the water has been released from the dam and is smashing through the mud and dirt that’s accumulated in my life these past years. I admit it - it’s fun to read through all of the lives contained in those tote boxes. I took out a love letter Grandpa wrote to Grandma when she was 21. I took out one of Mom’s diaries. I marveled at the sheer volume of my writing and teaching life, then watch with satisfaction as the pile of paper grows in the garbage can. On and on and on. I don’t need any of it anymore. I don’t think I ever really did.