Where Time Takes Things

When I was a kid, my family and I went on a summer road trip and I brought Queen's 'A Night at the Opera' album with me. I loved that album. I was hoping that we would come across a turntable in our travels and I could listen to Bohemian Rhapsody. What happened was I left the album in the car during one of our stops and the heat made the album warp. I was devastated. I actually tried molding the album back to it's original shape with my fingers. But the album had cooled down and wouldn't budge.

When we arrived at one of my parent's friends homes that we were visiting, I tearfully asked if I could bake a Night at the Opera in their oven with the hopes that the album would melt back to flatness. They agreed and a half hour later the album ended up looking like choppy waves on the ocean. I remember a quietness coming over me and I thought, "Well, how could this have not happened?" A matter-of-factness replaced the despair. I became fascinated with the distorted album. I felt like I had created art.

This is one of many events that shaped me into being a clutter buster. Over time it sank in that change was going to come no matter my resistance. I ended up becoming intrigued where time took things.

I remember a client a few years back wanting to hang on to a very old couch that had been passed down through the generations. It was in her basement, covered up by a bunch of other old crap. She defended the need to keep the couch even though she never sat on it. She had pride in heritage. So I uncovered the couch so she could see it in all its glory. The couch had mold, it wreaked of mildew, and there was a tattered hole in the back that served as an entrance for what was now a mouse couch hotel. Her emotional grip on the couch fell away in an instant. She couldn't get the couch out of her basement fast enough.