I love stuff. Like any self-respecting trend follower I can talk about minimalism all day. I’ve gotten rid of what feels like enough clothes to clothe a family. And yet, at the end of the day, deep in my heart of hearts, I’m much more like a Victorian, happily draping throws and scarves over things and covering every surface with knickknacks that are unutterably precious to me and the detritus of daily life. If you are a minimalist and can teach me how to let go of the Lord of the Rings ticket stubs from high school, please teach me your ways.
So here are my things that I love in no particular order.
1) My sheets. I got these from Marshalls and they are just the perfect shade of grey-blue. They get better every time I wash them, which is not nearly enough.
2) My mugs. They perhaps illustrate why I can never be a minimalist. I kind of get the argument that all you really need is one beautiful mug that you will love and treasure for the rest of your life, but, holy cow, there are so many wonderful mugs in the world. I like to think of my mugs like a large family. Parent friends have told me that you have no idea how you’ll ever be able to love a second child as much as you love the first, but your love just continues to grow. That is me and my mugs. They are all part of the regular rotation, and I love them all very, very deeply.
3) My plants. A bit of a love-hate relationship here. The cacti have thrived, the orchid soldiers on – not a bloom in sight, and the succulents are finicky. My new “favorite” (if I played favorites) is the little green gal with pink-veined leaves. About once a week she droops dramatically. I rush over with my waterbottle and dump what seems like far too much water in my desperation to revive her. Within 15 minutes all is well.
4) My shoes. The ugly shoe love is deep and abiding. I was just reminiscing with my mother this weekend about shoes that I have loved. I have some exciting heels, but the staples are clunky, sturdy, and good for you feet and back.
5) My books. Are they slowly taking over my apartment? Yes. Should I stop buying more at every turn? Yes. Will I? No. My books make me feel intelligent and cultured well-rounded. They are a reminder of who I was and inspiration for who I’d like to become. I have books for every mood and whim. Memoirs, fiction, classics, biographies. You won’t find many popular books. I did read the Hunger Games, but I have no desire to reread them. No Twilight here. No Gone Girl. No judgment, though. My books are a window to my soul (isn’t that how the saying goes), and I want everyone to know that while I will eagerly display If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Gone with the Wind, I Am Zlatan, and an astonishing amount of chick lit from the inter-war years there are some books that are best read and donated (in my opinion).
I could go on, because I have the propensity for becoming deeply attached to just about anything. But I’ll stop there.