Schaub - Year of No Clutter: A Memoir

ALSO BY EVE O. SCHAUB

Year of No Sugar

Copyright 2017 by Eve O. Schaub

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Schaub, Eve O.

Title: Year of no clutter : a memoir / Eve O. Schaub.

Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks, [2017]

Identifiers: LCCN 2016028643 | (pbk. : alk. paper)

Subjects: LCSH: Hoarders--United States--Biography. | Schaub, Eve O.--Homes and haunts. | Housekeeping. | Storage in the home.

Classification: LCC RC569.5.H63 S33 2017 | DDC 616.85/2270092 [B] --dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016028643

To Dr. F,

who gave me back my life.

WARNING

Reading, perusing, or glancing at this book may be disturbing or traumatic to those with fastidious constitutions, those with meticulous sensibilities, and/or Martha Stewart.

My aunt Mill, for example, must never, under any circumstances, be encouraged to read this book.

Nothing heals us like letting people know our scariest parts.

Anne Lamott

CONTENTS

A NOTE FROM THE HUSBAND

BY STEPHEN SCHAUB

I love my wife.

I really love my wife.

Okay. So now that I have gotten that out of the way, let me go where no husband with any common sense should ever go and talk about my wifes big hidden problemclutter.

Ever since I have known Eve she has always been a collector. I always felt that the word collector seemed about right: she loved to collect all sorts of things, both tangible and abstract, from souvenirs and photos to antiques and family memorabilia to travel experiences and relationships with friends. She revels in the tiny details that other people might miss, cherishes things other people might toss away without a thought.

I recall the first time that I realized she kept more than most people. It was before we were married, and we were out to dinner somewhere. Spontaneously I wrote I love you on a paper sugar packet and passed it to her across the table, and of course she smiled at me. Then she slipped the sugar packet into her purse. I made a joke that shed have to keep the package forever nowseeing as how it was a declaration of love.

Yes. I will keep it forever, she said, looking at me, still smiling but serious. After we were married and moving into the house where we live now, I recall coming across that sugar packet and being a little astounded. She really meant it.

I now realize that using that word collector is perhaps my own way of not dealing with a big problem. Eve loves to collect, but for some time now her collections have in many ways controlled her.

Living in a house that has one room or several rooms (depending on the day) that are nearly impossible to navigate due to the piles of unorganized objects is exhaustingfor everyone. But because most of the clutter is either Eves or under Eves jurisdiction, it seems by far worst for her. Surrounded by Stuff, she lives with the constant reminder of failure: failure to finish a project, failure to make a decision, failure to have a functioning space free of clutter. I know Eve feels this very keenly. There have been days when to her the weight of it was overwhelming, and as her husband it was very hard to see her feeling powerless, hopeless, in the face of her belongings.

Ive known Eve now for more than twenty years, and Ive watched her grapple with the problem of letting go for all of them. Upon occasion it has worried me. Part of her personality is to carry with her a tremendous sense of obligation not only to her friends and to her family but also to her objects. Some people can just let it go and move on. Not Eve. These emotionally perceived failures and shortcomings cling to her like award ribbons you never wanted to win.

When Eve told me about this project, I was hopeful. Hopeful not only that would we regain control over our house and get back some of our living space but more importantly that it would provide Eve with a greater sense of empowerment in her life.

I love my wife, and I love her collections Im just happy that they now occupy a much smaller part of our life.

I hope you enjoy her story.

INTRODUCTION

ITS ONLY STUFF

Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.

William Morris

I put up a pretty good front. To the average visitor, my house resembles a normalif slightly disheveledhome for a family of four. Sure, piles of clothes creep, amoeba-like, into the hallway from the laundry room, and its not completely unheard of for me not to get all the dishes done before bed.

But generally speaking, most of the time my house looks neat. Ish. If, at a moments notice, we were to be informed of the president and First Ladys imminent arrival, a laundry basket would materialize to sweep away the random school papers, summer camp projects, and squadrons of fleece jackets that seem magnetically attracted to my floor. In the grand scheme of things, its all fairly manageable.

If, however, when the president and the First Lady arrived they asked to be given a tour of the house, we might have a tiny problem. Having seen the rather unremarkable first floor, wed ascend the stairs and, if it was just the right day, wed peek through doorways at the top to see a clean bathroom sink and a made bed. Lets assume Id even finished filing papers the day before, so just down the hall and to the left wed glimpse a fully visible office floor. Further down the hallway opens into a small room lined with bookshelves and, at the far end of that, a closed door. It is at this point that our tour would abruptly conclude.

Thank you, Mr. President and Mrs. First Lady, for visiting our humble home, I would say, with a small head gesture that indicated deference if not an actual curtsy.