The un-American dream

We've been to Centre Parcs 3 or 4 times over the last decade with an assortment of friends and family members. The last time we went, several families booked the same week and we all managed to secure chalets within the same area, so a big group of us who all knew each other ended up being neighbours from Monday - Friday too. It was ace.

After unloading all our stuff and moving all vehicles to the designated car park, the new neighbourhood quickly became a carless playground / abandoned bike area and children milled around with a bit more freedom than they would otherwise have at home. It was probably like going back in time - children had a home but were welcome elsewhere, using the scrum of bikes and scooters to locate their mates. They came home to eat, but could pick up a snack at a friend's house too. Individually, families made plans for the day, but these were quite fluid and in between unpacking, food shopping and meeting up at the pool / gym / ice rink, children re-enacted a more free range lifestyle as described in those viral news feed cloggers usually titled I survived being a child of the 50s / 60s / 70s (which curiously never seem to mention the national treasure that was Jimmy Saville or child road death statistics in an age before booster seats were available, let alone compulsory).

Anyway.

The layout and inventory of each of our houses was exactly the same, and although decor did vary slightly, the overall appearance was fairly generic- the developers clearly shopped with the one supplier for all their finishing touches. (What a dream job for someone that would be- shopping for a living then playing house with the results...).

Again. Anyway.

As the week wore on I noticed that people were a bit less precious about their belongings in this fake temporary environment. Granted, on holiday you generally have less things in your life to be precious about, but even so- there was an increase in trust and /or a decrease in security awareness. Bikes were stacked up in racks outside communal areas, helmets clipped into handlebars. There were dozens of buggies outside the pool, babies noticeably absent but carrier bags stuffed underneath them. And people were far less likely to close their curtains at dusk, meaning anyone walking by could easily see into their living rooms.

This last thing especially intrigued me.
Q: Why did no one care?
A: Because variations between us had been suspended and everyone was pretty much the same.

There were 2 grades of accommodation - Woodland Lodge and Executive Suite. Only fellow holiday makers were passing by and given that each had exactly the same facilities at their own disposal, there was no reason to be looking in through someone else's open curtains. Even if an Executive Suiter took an accidental detour, they were only on their way home to a slightly bigger living room containing identical (or very, very similar) soft furnishings & furniture.

I enjoyed this week for many reasons: No work or school, dossing with people I love, swimming every day, no post to open, being able to walk everywhere we needed to be, not needing to be anywhere, actually... But something else was great too and I couldn't quite figure out what. At first I thought it was spending time with our neighbours who were already friends, but it was deeper than that. There was a commonality between us that week. We were all living in a similar way. It was unfamiliar but comforting. Stuff wasn't as important. I'm all for downgrading stuff. I have too much of it yet am caught up in a way of life that requires it. Clearing out and passing things on is like therapy for me. After a bad day, most people phone a friend, go to the gym or reach for the wine. Me? I clean out a cupboard. Or a friend's cupboard. Or in the days of our lets move house every year-a-thon, pack a box of possessions and label it with a sharpie.

I can see why Communism was considered a good thing. On paper it must have seemed the perfect solution to inequality and a fractured society. Unfortunately, as a collective, people don't do restraint very well and when we tried it, the whole thing became so extreme it travelled full circle and met Capitalism coming the other way. But everything in moderation, you know? Just a little bit of Communism. Would that have been so bad?

• What if the movement had ended with the idea that stuff doesn't define you?

• What if the party members had managed to screen out the power trippers and schizoids when they elected their leaders and the movement had remained pure and uncorrupted? (NB- Russell Brand is definitely onto something but likely falls into the whackjob category. Disappointing. Avoid).

• What if the remaining legacy was not oppression, corruption, enforced atheism and the dismantling of human rights, but the overwhelming acceptance that your car is a thing that gets you from A to B? End of.

• What if some were not created more equal than others but rather we were just created equal?

I have an un-American dream. It involves less stuff. And clean cupboards. And wine (in moderation).

Clutter (pt 3)

I somehow missed The Matrix at the cinema and instead watched it a few weeks after it was released on a boxy 28" TV in my living room having borrowed a really poor quality video pirate from a mate at uni. 

It completely blew my mind. 

I'm actually quite glad I didn't see it on the big screen - I fear I would have completely lost myself and wrestled even longer with the disparity between film world and real life that a good movie or book always leaves me with. As it happened this particular film hangover lasted only until the next morning.

The construct loading programme featured in the film is an incredible premise. The construct is the default appearance of the Matrix - a massive ongoing computer simulation, which has enslaved humanity. Until programmed by the controller, the construct is endless- an eternal white expanse of nothingness with the potential to become anything and everything.

But until programmed, the construct is shapeless. The characters plugged into it are present and can interact with each other, but their surroundings are bare. There is nowhere to hide and no distractions.

Is authentic worship being in that head space with God? Where nothing else matters and you see only him?

Not the person next to you.
No actual or made up interruptions.
Just Jesus.

So much STUFF gets in the way that it's almost impossible to get to that place most of the time. My head is far more Where's Wally than Neo and Morpheus.

Stuff invades our heads from all kinds of sources and lots of it rightly so deserves time and thought and effort. But then there's other things on the fringes that refuse to remain there and if unchecked, gradually crowd into our souls until we've completely lost sight of that little red and white bobble hat.

And then as if everyday distractions weren't enough, sometimes the stuff originates from within the church, or through practises and traditions that are meant to bring us closer to him. (How much of what we do is an aid to intimacy with Jesus and how much of it is just religiosity to hide behind??) 

Not everyone who calls me ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven, but only those who do what my Father in heaven wants them to do. When the Judgment Day comes, many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord! In your name we spoke God's message, by your name we drove out many demons and performed many miracles!’ Then I will say to them, ‘I never knew you. Get away from me, you wicked people!’ (Mat 7:21-23)

Whoah that's harsh...

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. (Matthew 22:37)

I don’t want to be first on a list of values; I want to be at the centre of everything. (Jesus, The Shack)

And there it is. The antidote. Like a heavenly paracetamol+liquid brufen combo for the worst toothache ever. And a bit less daunting than confronting demons.

More of you
More of you
More of you
Amen x

Clutter (pt 2)

I have a mild form of clutter paralysis. It's like the opposite of hoarding, and something I believe will soon be recognised as the mental disorder obsessive-compulsive spartanism.

Having too much stuff around me stifles my ability to function, so I'm forever assessing what we need then recycling the things we don't. This can make visitors nervous sometimes. They fear they may find themselves either placed in a cupboard or put in my take to charity shop pile. I say 'mild' because I've read of people who suffer this far more intensely than me who constantly give away stuff they actually use or wear on a regular basis, whereas I only get rid of things that are actually redundant. (Although there have been a few fairly big exceptions to this over the years including a wardrobe which we could have done with 3 months after giving it away as we moved to another rental property and an external hard drive, which in my defence edged slowly towards the bin in the garage over a 6 month period. (I was giving it a chance you know? It didn't even try).

Spartanism extends to my digital activities too. My desktop looks like this:

If I'm working on something and save a few files on the desktop for convenience I MUST file or delete them before logging off, or deal with them FIRST THING the following day. Otherwise I feel like this:

Reports indicate that people will compulsively discard items like clothes, books and even expensive electronics and furniture in an effort to free themselves from what they consider to be clutter. It seems that people who compulsively throw objects out — the opposite of hoarding — are overwhelmed by possessions. Fewer belongings makes them feel more in control of their life and surroundings. (WiseGeek)

I totally relate to this. The more manic my life becomes, the less likely I am to ask the kids nicely to come back and pick up their nerf bullets / hello kitty trump cards / hand drawn tributes to our dead hamster Omnon / other assorted kiddie crap that is strewn around every room they've played in so far today, and will instead pick up a bin bag and yell 'I'm tidying up now!!.....'

The off switch to this behaviour can be triggered in various ways:

• Go on holiday (stay somewhere else for a few days and the neat rules don't seem to apply)
• Decorate (If the house is tipped up with brushes and rolls of wall paper, finishing THAT job overwrites any mental fixation with neatness)
• Have visitors / house guests over (ditto above- focus on people, not clutter)
• Move house (rather extreme I know, but it does have the same effect. And we have moved house quite a lot recently so it's been helpful therapy)

As long as one of the above happens fairly regularly it will prevent our home from looking like this:

So if you aren't doing anything today, please come round for coffee.

Clutter

I have certain OCD like tendencies which manifest primarily in tidying up and the ordering/reordering of my immediate environment. This does NOT necessarily mean cleaning by the way- because if you tidy a room it will LOOK clean without it having to be so. (Write that one down).

I fully appreciate that not everyone lives with this affliction and I am secretly jealous of the ability some have to be surrounded by mountains of junk and NOT CARE. But I do. I really can’t help it. Actual physical clutter congests my mind and suffocates my thought processes to the extent that even if I have something pressingly urgent to attend to, the presence of more than 4 icons on my desktop, a pile of filing or a single piece of un-opened mail can rudely jump the queue in my head and demand to be dealt with first. Much to the frustration of Keith (who incidentally possesses a normal brain).

I should also point out here that I don’t care if other people are surrounded by junk of their own. In fact, it often won’t even register. If I’m visiting a mate, then I’m there to see them and will almost certainly not see the clutter that they choose to live amongst- unless they invite me to notice, or refer to it in some way.

So take my order-possessed brain and put it in a situation where I am suddenly surrounded by rubbish that is not mine and the culprit (my ex-tenant) is not present. Now imagine that the location is a house that I used to live in and am still legally the owner of. Now suppose that the potential new owner is imminently arriving to this house of junk and may or may not still want to purchase it due to its current condition. In this situation I have an acute and overwhelming awareness of how much clutter there is, along with the urgency to do something about it.

The quantity of rubbish was massive. Perhaps our newly ex-tenant had been subletting to kleptomaniacs or vagrants or a family of badgers? We moved house ourselves 4 months ago with 3 kids, a cat and a business and and we didn’t generate this much stuff. The rubbish had clearly been accumulating for some time. Most of it was bagged up (helpfully) in the front garden, but much of it strewn around the back garden and sneakily hidden in the two-foot wide 'L' shaped gap between the boundary fence and the playhouse, which slowly became visible as said playhouse was dismantled. My personal favourites hidden here included:

A hamster cage (Madi now wants a gerbil for her birthday- I wish I'd kept it now)

The rotting remains of a cot-side

A mouldy Bertini pram (chassis was still in good nick though)

A sodden wet rug (it left the living room a long time ago)

A double duvet (covered in mould and crawling with wood lice)

Ah, but the crème de la crème of crap was actual real crap which I presume originated from from the boxer dog which the tenant owned.

Picture the scene- I have spent the best part of an entire day cleaning and hoovering my soon-to-be-ex-house with the help of some fantastic friends and neighbours and between us we have almost eliminated the smell of incontinent dog (yeah!) and replaced it with the peachy aroma of shake’n’vac.

Between us we have disposed of 2 skips worth of rubbish and an unmarked white vanfull of scrap metal (which conveniently appeared just after the second skip was dropped off -otherwise it would have been 4 skips).

All that remains now is to wheel the green garden-waste wheelie bin from the back garden to the front kerb, scrub the (manky slimey) decking underneath where the bin used to be and voila! Time for a bath then Costas with the lovely Michele.

However, on grasping and pulling the wheelie bin, it does not move. I do. I literally skate right into it, sliding on the thick layer of algae and motor oil which coats the decking. I try to tip the bin to manoeuvre it, but it refuses to budge. I open the bin to inspect the weighty contents- and almost puke right there on the spot.

It contains approximately 2 years worth of fossilised dog crap, a handful of children’s play balls, some carrier bags and a smattering of leaves and twigs on the top - which will maybe fool the recycling people - you never know.

No wonder the neighbours reported never having seen her walk the dog.

It took a whole 20 minutes, strategic planning and 2 of us huffing and puffing and pushing the wheelie bin over the manky slimey decking, around a manky slimey corner, up a slightly less manky slimey step and into the front garden. And then a call to the environmental health agency– who obligingly emptied the whole thing 3 days later. Free of charge. Maybe they forgot to ask for a forwarding address for the invoice. Or maybe the woman just took pity on me because I wasn't responsible for the fossilised dog faeces.

Anyway.

The last memory of our old house is a sad colourless version of the one I had when we left it, over 2 years ago. Even with the rubbish gone there was wear and dog-related tear throughout which couldn’t be fixed in one weekend. There was damage to the front door that suggested (according to the locksmith who fixed it) that the door had been kicked hard at some point - perhaps more than once. And a couple of kitchen cupboards were damaged at head-height. The whole house was soulless to me - tainted with an undercurrent of dog urine and domestic violence that I couldn’t imagine having ever lived there - or even wanting to.

Back at home, and after a few hours of self pity and slight over-reaction to the kids leaving toys around (‘I am NOT here to pick up your things. Put that away NOW otherwise you will grow up to be an overgrown child who thinks their mess is someone else’s problem!’) I thought about what God maybe felt like after it all went pear shaped in Eden.

Just picture the brand new perfect world that he’d made, loved and delighted in. It was absolutely perfect in every way- fresh and clean with no rouge DNA or viruses or anything. Did the whole planet smell of new-born baby and freshly mown grass? Did newly created reds and greens and purples sparkle with vibrancy?

Then when Adam & Eve cocked it up for the rest of us, how did God feel? When sin and the stench of death came to a spotless planet that was hardly - I don’t know, a day, a week, a month - old, what did that do to the heart of its creator?

Was he like ‘You’ve wrecked it now- I can’t live here anymore. I love you but I can’t look at you or have you look at me. You broke my creation.’

Does he look at people today and say the same?

- To one who claims to love another yet lies and manipulates and lashes out: ‘You’ve broken LOVE’

- To the inadequate and insecure parent who constantly yells at their kid, crushing another's spirit and stealing joy: ‘You’ve broken my CHILD’

- To those who put their own selfish needs above others and abuse and rape and assault: ‘You’ve broken SEX’

These thoughts offered perspective. It was only a house. I didn’t build it- with my own hands. Keith and me didn’t even own it outright when it WAS ours. There were lots of things about it that we would have changed had we stayed there longer. But I still grieved for what it once was.

I guess God cries even more.