I know some obstinate people. And the problem with obstinate people is that they can really impede your progress. So I’m trying to learn from the wisdom of Poirot. He says,
I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them.
from The Mystery of the Blue Train
In honor of the recent holiday, a Poirot quote from Hallowe’en Party
Old sins have long shadows. . . . As we advance through life, we learn the truth of that saying.
“You’ve got to see this TV show,” my husband said. “It made me want to go into my office and throw everything away.”
That’s how he introduced me to Hoarders, a show about people who have journeyed way past collecting and moved into a strange universe of piled rubbish, rotting food, dead cats, and worse. Each episode features two hoarders with an immediate need to get rid of their stuff, usually because they’re about to be evicted. The scary thing for both me and my husband is that we see ourselves in these people. We hear our own thoughts and emotions echoed in theirs as we watch them attempt to deal (or not) with their disease.
Once upon a time, I would have described myself as a pack rat. Now, after watching the entire first season of the show, I worry that I’m really a hoarder-in-training. When I was younger, I remember looking at my (then) small collection of books and being so pleased just to own them. Their mere presence gave me comfort. The colors on the spines were so pretty that they lit up the room somehow. But twenty years down the road, having hauled the books with me for three moves and over hundreds of miles, and having increased the collection to fill all available space (and then some), the books have become a burden. They don’t light up the room anymore. They just fill it.
If the books were my only problem, I think I might deal with them easily over the course of time. That’s what the Great Library Purge is about, after all. But the books are just the tip of the iceberg. What about my collections of stuffed animals, unplayed video games, and decorative tchotchkes? And who needs more than ten decks of cards? There’s junk in every drawer, stacks in the closet, piles on the floor. It’s gotten out of control and I’ve known it for a while, but this show really forced me to turn the spotlight on my own problem.
I can see how it happened. It’s my dislike of waste and a “green” conscience, coupled with uncertainty over how to properly dispose of certain things. It’s the difference between who I am (an everyday person with limited time for the pursuit of hobbies) and who I want to be (someone with the time to read and learn about anything of interest). It’s having moved several times and still not having the house completely done. It’s a desire to give gifts to people, and a fear that the presents won’t be appreciated. It’s sadness at the idea of throwing away something received from a loved one, particularly if they spent a lot of money on it. And simplest of all, it’s a habit, something I’ve been doing for so long that I hardly know how to stop.
So we watched and we watched and the horror built up inside, and soon the need to purge the house became so strong that I spent every night for a week “dehoarding.” My husband eventually joined the fray. Boxes and boxes of books were hoisted from the house, never to return. Bags of trash and Goodwill donations followed. I cleaned the bedroom thoroughly for the first time in I-don’t-want-to-think-how-long.
My office is, alas, still something of a mess, and my hands are tied by the situation in the rest of the house. Until the great room, mud room, garage, and my husband’s office are properly set up, there will be things stored in my office that do not belong there, everything from Christmas decorations to snorkeling gear. My office is the dumping ground for those items because it’s big and because I only need the part where my desk is.
But in spite of that, I think I can still dehoard some more, or at least declutter. That is my plan for today. I will try to get just a few more stacks off the floor. That’s not too much to ask. Off I go now to do that.
Yesterday, I took Marshall outside to play. It was a beautiful day, with a blue sky, bright fall foliage, and the perfect temperature. There were acorns everywhere. I couldn’t walk more than a few inches without crushing one.
So here is a comment from Poirot to fit the season.
The squirrel . . . collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity . . . we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching at the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, . . . I have been the squirrel. I have stored away the little fact here, the little fact there.
from The Mystery of the Blue Train
I was just thinking that I was hungry and needed a late-night snack. That brought to mind this silly little comment that Poirot made in “The Theft of the Royal Ruby.”
You arouse my gastronomic juices, madame.
Poirot on colds:
Everyone always thinks they have ‘flu.’ It sounds more important. One gets more sympathy. The trouble with a catarrhal cold is that it is hard to glean the proper amount of sympathetic consideration from one’s friends.
from Hallowe’en Party
Dear Marshall,
It is March of 2011 now. I wrote the following post during the fall, which is why I’m setting the publication date to this day (chosen randomly) in October.
I looked out the window at the tree limbs dancing in the sky today and saw that some of the leaves have started to turn. Fall is on its way.
We went out in the yard. I showed you different colored leaves: red, yellow, brown, and green. I made such a big deal over hunting for yellow ones that you started to laugh at me. I made a little pile in front of you. I wish I could freeze that moment—you standing there with all the yellow birch leaves and laughing.
The grass was long and lush and damp. How happy you were picking up wet acorns and muddy pine cones.
I remember the first time I saw this house, looking up at the swing set on the hill and thinking what a great place this would be to raise a child. That was before we had decided for sure to have children, and before we had decided for sure to buy a house. So strongly did that feeling persist that we felt sad about not buying this house, but it was just too expensive. The asking price dropped again, though. We snatched up the house and now the image is reality. There is a child to play in the yard.
Other people might say, “There’s no neighborhood. Children should be raised in a neighborhood.” But who needs a neighborhood when you have frogs and blackberries and dragonflies and salamanders, and lots and lots of leaves. I hope you will learn to love the outdoors as much as I do.
Love,
Mom
It’s so sad that I didn’t have much time to devote to the end of the Marplethon, and even sadder that I don’t have time for more than a few words about each of the last books.
Double Sin and Other Stories by Agatha Christie
Grade: A
I borrowed this collection of short stories from the library because I thought I needed it to finish the Marplethon, but as it turned out, I didn’t. Still, there were some stories in it that I hadn’t read yet, including “Double Sin,” “Wasp’s Next,” “The Theft of the Royal Ruby,” and “The Double Clue” (all of which feature Hercule Poirot) and also “The Last Seance,” a supernatural tale. There are also a couple of Marple stories (“Greenshaw’s Follly” and “Sanctuary”) as well as another supernatural tale, “The Dressmaker’s Doll.” These three also appear in Miss Marple’s Final Cases.
Miss Marple’s Final Cases by Agatha Christie
Grade: A
Miss Marple’s Final Cases contained all three of the stories that I needed to finish the Marplethon: “Sanctuary,” “Miss Marple Tells a Story,” and “Greenshaw’s Folly.” Also included are the four Marple stories from Three Blind Mice and Other Stories.
A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie
Grade: B+
I wasn’t really looking forward to this one, having seen a BBC version of it on television at some point. It won me over a little bit, though. In this story, someone poisons a businessman. When his body is examined by the police, they find that one of his pockets is full of rye. No one can figure out the significance of this. But then there are more murders, and one of the victims is someone known to Miss Marple, so off she goes to investigate.
Sleeping Murder by Agatha Christie
Grade: A+
Sleeping Murder is, I think, one of Christie’s best mysteries. A newly married couple buy a house, a house chosen by the bride because there is something familiar and welcoming about it. But soon that familiarity starts to scare her, as it draws old and frightening images from her memory. Now, to find out the truth about what happened to her as a child, she must dig deep into the past, a past that someone else doesn’t want disturbed. Miss Marple is just the person to help the couple, but she wonders if it might not be best to let sleeping murder lie…
A Murder is Announced by Agatha Christie
Grade: B+
In A Murder is Announced, and ad from the local newspaper declares, “A murder is announced and will take place on Friday, October 29th, at Little Paddocks, at 6:30 P.M. Friends please accept this, the only intimation.” Though most of the neighbors think it sounds absurd, they’re too curious to stay away, and they are all gathered at the appointed time and place. It’s all supposed to be a game, they assume, but then the lights go out, and when they come back on, there is a body on the floor. Such a strange case can only be solved by someone with a keen understanding of human nature, someone like Miss Jane Marple.
Happy Birthday (again), Agatha Christie. My thanks to you for a great year of reading.
It is a gray day. Chilly. Not the kind of day that draws you out of the house. I wish I were at the seaside enjoying the sun.
Replies Poirot,
The sun shines. The sea is blue. But you forget . . . there is evil everywhere under the sun.
from Evil Under the Sun
Dear Marshall,
I don’t dare relax when watching you. Some people might call me hypervigilant, but you see, I know a few things about you.
Yesterday, you were playing in the child-proofed dining room while I was cooking in the kitchen. I noticed that you were making noises like your mouth was full and my “something’s not right” bump started to itch. I said, “What do you have in your mouth?” It’s a valid question, but the stupidest thing I could possibly ask you, since you always take it as a cue to run. So I chased you around the table a few times, finally caught up with you, and stuck my finger into your mouth. Thanks for biting me, by the way.
What I found was a small piece of broken glass. And I could tell, as soon as I let you go, that you still had something in your mouth. So around and around we went again, and with new toothmarks on my finger, I pulled out another chunk of glass, this one rather large. The glass was fractured, so I figured the first small piece had broken off of it. But that made me wonder, did you swallow any other small pieces?
After many phone calls, tears, and a trip to the urgent medical care office, the simple answer was this: if you had swallowed any, it would probably just pass through you harmlessly. Lucky for you, it was like safety glass, not terribly sharp.
I was relieved, but not relaxed. Never relaxed. I know you too well. And I love you all the more for it.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Your father and I still have no idea where you found the glass.
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