I walked by my
dining room just now and closed an open drawer. It was from a little table we
bought after moving here a few years ago. I needed it for my leichter, and it was a chore finding
just the right one. I learned that what I was looking for is called a console
table and searched high and low but couldn’t find one that fit the very small
space that I had for it. I remember feeling pleased when my search was finally
over – and even happier when the table fit perfectly in the spot where it
needed to go.
The console table
has three drawers, which I had no intention of using when I first bought it. But
wouldn’t you know: Those drawers are now stuffed to the gills. Well, I could
argue that they’re filled with necessary things that I use when I light my
candles every Friday night. One drawer holds boxes of wicks, another the book
of brachas I say for Shabbos and Yom
Tov, and the last one contains lighters, matches, and tea lights – all things
needed for candle lighting. I wondered as I closed the drawer where I would
have put all those things if I didn’t have that cute little console table.
Frankly, I just can’t imagine.
I like having
little places to store my things. I see them all over my dresser top. I have an old cigar box for my bracelets, an
egg cup for my rings, and a cream-and-sugar set for clips and hair bands – everything
in its place. It feels so good to be organized. I enjoy decluttering my
apartment every three months or when I start feeling claustrophobic, whichever
comes first. I’d like to think that I really don’t have all that much stuff
anyway. But seriously, who am I kidding here? I know from past experience that
if and when we ever move again I hope I remember the enormous amount of stuff I
have and work on getting rid of anything unnecessary before the boxes are
loaded into the moving van.
Back when our
children were smaller, we moved from Pittsburgh to Cleveland. I prided myself
on how much I gave or threw away beforehand, thinking that we would only take
what we really needed. It was after the moving truck drove away when we
realized that another, smaller, vehicle would be needed to move the rest of our
belongings.
Old habits are
hard to change. I guess I’m just one of those people who like objects. I have a
closet full of books and some toys for our grandchildren. I cleared out so much
of it already, but I like to hold on to a few favorites. Before Pesach, I
cleaned out my closets but found that I still had some clothes that I just
couldn’t seem to part with, even though I haven’t worn them in a long time. I
would never call myself a packrat. I’m just someone who likes things.
I can’t say the
reason I keep them is for a rainy day. I’m not someone who worries about running
out of items and don’t buy large quantities of toothpaste or laundry detergent.
I only stored household items in excess during the early COVID days. But I feel
better knowing that I wasn’t the only one who stocked up on paper products. The
grocery shelves were cleaned out by everyone in town back then.
You might think that,
with the accumulation of the things in my apartment, I would be someone who is
always buying something. While I enjoy shopping, I don’t buy everything I see.
I like looking in the housewares department but won’t buy anything unless I
think I can use it and don’t go clothes shopping unless I need something
specific.
When I was a young
mother, I was never one who liked tchochkes.
That was something that grandmothers had on every surface in their living rooms
along with the plastic that covered their couches. Everything on my table was a
necessity, like baby toys or someone’s homework folder. Somewhere along the
way, things started to change. I began to like home decorating and discovered
my penchant for woven baskets and decorative bowls. When my mother-in-law, a”h, was niftar, our home became filled with many of her beautiful
treasures.
So now, when I
look around my apartment, I can finally see that it’s time to take off my
rose-colored glasses and reluctantly admit that I have joined the rank and file
of the bubbies who have come before me. I acknowledge that what I can see very
clearly and on every surface are my lovely tchochkes.
But don’t expect me to agree that those rose-colored glasses of mine will ever
be found dangling from a chain around my neck!
Zahava Hochberg
is a weekly columnist for the Monsey Mevaser. She has created two columns for
this paper and is regularly featured in the Baltimore magazine Where, What,
When. Zahava can be reached at zrspeech@gmail.com.
