I started working in the dining room today, mostly because that is where we spend so much time as a family, so it probably reflects how we think and interact with our home environment. It’s your standard dining room–if you saw it, you would think that either these are nomadic people who expect to move at any moment and don’t want to invest any money in decent furniture because they are going to have to leave it behind (true) and they also don’t have money because they keep moving and they pay too much in rent (also true).
It’s not really a formal dining room, just a little area off the kitchen with an Ikea table and three, sometimes four chairs, two bookshelves, two plastic gardening shelves and our recycling area. I know, how unattractive, looking at our recycling area. Seattle is great for recycling, which unfortunately means we have to recycle almost everything we can. It’s really easy. Just take your clean recyclables and put them in the container outside. Now, I do pretty well at taking things out, but I seem to be the only person in the house that has that special skill. Tad and Skip will just look at the overflowing container until it is recycle day (every other week) and then take things out. I guess you wouldn’t want the container to get full before its time, would you?
I started working on the bookshelf that holds all our cookbooks. A partial list of what I found: two boot boxes (one Scarpa, one Vasque), two grocery store receipts dating from August of this year, last year’s neighborhood directory, a pair of socks from when Tad was a toddler–no, we haven’t lived in this house that long, it’s just that they were really cute, and I wanted to save them, and I finally designated a box where I could store his baby clothes and it is in the garage. The list does include most of our cookbooks as well as a box of Lillie Belle handmade chocolates that we bought at the factory in August of 2009 which contains one chocolate, apparently overlooked by our household for 15 months.
Anyway, this is part of our problem. Nature abhors a vacuum (Natura abhorret a vacua) is the Tracer family motto. Once an object makes it onto an empty space on a shelf in our household, it pretty much has tenure, unless one of us (me) has a conscious moment and asks, what is this thing doing here?