Karyn Elliott

What even is springtime?

March 21, 2024 by Karyn Elliott

Morning temps will hover around negative seven degrees Celsius with a windchill of too much. Expect dumps of a foot or two of stop-and-start fluffy, white stuff, the first when you’re walking to your office and the second when you’re coming home.

Around 2 p.m., it should be nice, though—in St. Lucia.

The groundhog told us that it would be warm by now—and it will be. In July.

On the plus side, you’ll continue to wear your new Persimmon (Sherwin-Williams 2024 Colour of the Year), goose down coat. You know, where you feel hot from the stomach up, and cold from the legs down.

This Colour of the Year has some as excited as a nudist in a clothing store, and others say it looks like one of Big Mac’s special sauces.

But every spring, a new pastel colour seems to will itself into existence, and this one is reported to evoke feelings of “comfort and joy”.

Wait! Isn’t that a line from “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen”?

Springtime is when you clean out your social-media accounts, gathering up all your old tweets to donate to charity. The birds are extremely busy in springtime. It’s tax season, and they have got to get their receipts in order.

In the springtime, toss cushions change. They go from being scratchy and big to being softer and more medium-sized in 2024 colours: Blue Nova, Thermal, Upward, and Peach Fuzz. And Persimmon.

Flowers are essential to any successful springtime decor. Make sure to reserve your plastic flowers early, or else you’ll have to make your own from coloured scrap paper, which is time-consuming and involves negotiating with store clerks.

A number of fruits and vegetables are in season somewhere in the world. You will do nothing with this information and you will continue to bake frozen pizzas in your oven, and watch Netflix sitting on your medium-sized Blue Nova toss cushions.

Many holidays happen during the springtime, like Easter; Earth Day; Rain Sometimes; It’s Snowing Again; Wow One Almost Warm Day; The Bugs Have Not Returned; and Mother’s Day.

Springtime is when you switch all your teas from hot to almost hot.

Springtime is when mitts are fifty per cent off, but now you don’t really need mitts everyday. What’s worse is that Lululemon cropped pants, which you may use soon, are full price even though they’re technically only part of a pant.

Soon though, the weather will be so comfortable and pleasant on the sunny side of the street, that you will actually feel like you’re indoors? Because you are. It’s too miserable to go out.

Forecast: 70% chance of furies on Friday.

Filed Under: Blog

This is Your Life!

March 5, 2024 by Karyn Elliott

Ordinarily at this time of year, many of you may be looking forward to getting away; a place where you have a side of beach with your morning coffee, happier than a seagull with a French fry. A time best described where “you lie down in the sun with wine and a book, getting up five to seven days later”.

But if that isn’t on the market for you right now, I would like to offer you another sort of journey: one of self-congratulations and self-recognition, honouring your life as a REAL ESTATE AGENT: essentially a therapist, confessor, business advisor and risk accessor to all the citizen pilgrims that cross your threshold.

Recognizing, and in gratitude for your endless days and nights, here is a sort of career biography citing common and illustrious day-to-day events, encapsulating the trials and tribulations in the life of a real estate agent, but really, I’m just answering the age old question – “What do real estate agents do all day anyway?”

Just as there are a myriad of glories to this career, there are inevitably occasions which, with a sigh, you fondly say, “It’s all in a days work”.

Number One: Forgetting to bring a chair to your vacant “Open House” as well as a bag of Miss Vickie’s Sweet Chili chips. But on the bright side, this does give you that much needed alone time – to read “100 Places To Visit Before You Die”, drinking cold coffee out of a paper cup and…listening to the chirping smoke detector.

Number Two: Selling a property where:

there is a large Manet poster over the bed. You know, the one with a naked girl on the bed. It’s famous.
the “home office” is really a folding table strewn with papers and an outdated desktop computer.
the house is either in need of a good carpenter or a well-placed bolt of lightning.
the main bedroom looks like a furniture showroom.
the housekeeping style could be best described as – “there appears to have been a struggle”.
the neighbour’s front lawn looks like there’s a yard sale.

Really, to use theological terms, it is just too frigging much.

Number Three: Sending emails with timestamps that make people ask, “when is it you sleep exactly?”

Number Four: Finding your socks don’t match when you take off your shoes.

Number Five: How to respond when your seller tells you their house is:
“cozy”, which really means tiny
“prewar”, which really means unrenovated
“converted” meaning they installed a fake wall to make an extra bedroom
“recently renovated” meaning the house had gone from uninhabitable to unpleasant

Number Six: Lowering the radio music when looking for the street address so you can see better.

Number Seven: Entering the lockbox code on your microwave after a long day. And even worse, when you thought you were buying organic vegetables, you got home only to discover they’re just regular donuts.

Number Eight: The homeowner:wants you to include every little detail about their house in the listing description.insists on you photographing the sides of their house.says their house was made with their bare hands out of reclaimed wood.

Number Nine: Hearing yet again, “Yes, I know what all the comps say, but my house is “SPECIAL”,(but in reality, it’s as ordinary as a loaf of bread.)

Number Ten: Endeavor not to be irritated by people, even when there is good reason to be.

Number Eleven: Wondering what kind of wine goes with oatmeal.

Number Twelve: Giving a great big thank you to weekends and evenings for understanding that there is no time for them now that you’re in real estate.

Number Thirteen: Thanking your car for being:
an office
filing cabinet
storage unit and
occasional dining room, boardroom, and bedroom.

Oh well, sunsets are probably overrated.

Filed Under: Blog

And just like that: time and gravity

March 5, 2024 by Karyn Elliott

For a long time, I thought I might avoid growing old altogether, but as they say, it’s better than the alternative. I mean, I had outfoxed opening ordinary packaging and could comprehend an excel sheet. But I still don’t understand why they have to keep inventing new ways to turn a shower on and off.

I am at the time of losses, what Jung called, “the afternoon of one’s life”; a marked and steady erosion of ambition, a kind of cliff edge. I have to accept I am not going to change the world after all, and will easily be forgotten. This knowledge is sobering, but also a sort of relief. It’s certainly changed my approach to filing taxes.

All that I have built up is now diminishing, disintegrating, disappearing; more doors closing than opening. Running out of time and not being able to leap out of taxis like a deer is something that never occurs to you when you are in your twenties or thirties, even in your forties. Now it looms ever closer. In other words, I still may have time for a second act, but I’d better get moving. Breaker Morant said that we have the responsibility of living every day like it might be our last, because one of these days we’re guaranteed to be right. I’m glad I’m still drinking, for this should help immensely.

So, what have I learned about getting older? Not a lot. But I thought I’d better write it down before I forget.

One of aging’s unnerving surprises hard to reconcile, is that everything is declining: health, firm thighs, a gimlet social life, and the certainty that you have something to impart, if only you could remember what that is. Once past the physical peek, of say, 26, it is an incremental dive downhill from there; the most prolonged of all disagreeable experiences. Nothing can keep you young – except maybe great sex. Hey, maybe even mediocre sex can add a few years.

But wait, hasn’t there been some mistake? I was 19 a minute ago, but when I look over the paperwork, I see that I really was born quite a few years ago.

Although I’m gratefully on the other side of something, I actually feel 35. Okay, 45. It’s the age I identify with, feeling like a young woman with something really wrong with me. it’s a weird hybrid of the me I once knew, my personal brand of delusion. There is, of course, a chance that I may be happier at eighty than I was at twenty or forty, but I’m probably also going to feel far less pleasant than I would like to. Essentially, it’s a messy business.

Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that good night.”, encouraged us to fight off aging, but he died when he was only 39, so he never knew how inflexible your knees could be in your 50’s.

You can call it experience, but I am under no such illusion. It’s really a matter of adjustment; to embrace the perceptible sense of deflation, my skin draping like a grubby old net curtain, the pair of wrinkles carving arches over my eyebrows resembling an anthropomorphized cat. And my chin, which can only be described as a kind of smudge. The only good grace about this, is my inability to be able to actually see it. And hair – it’s showing up in the strangest places.

The adage, “beauty comes from within”? I can’t stand people who say things like this. What can they be thinking? Don’t they have necks? And by the way, wrapping a scarf around it is not advised, as the imagination usually conjures up something worse than the reality.

I often hear people complain about how they look, people I’ve known for 25 years. To them I say, “What are you complaining about? You never looked that good to begin with.”

Our society has been youth obsessed for as long as I can remember, transcending the centuries. Example. In 1513, explorer Juan Ponce de León discovered Florida while searching for the fountain of youth and eternal life. I also read that people have tried staring deeply into their fireplace until a younger version of themselves appeared in the flames, but I can’t confirm the results. And no, you can’t ward off death or prolong beauty by only eating raw meat, roasted cauliflower and the stem of a rare tree.

Although now a mere technicality, a loophole, it might have been helpful if I hadn’t followed the skin care rules of the ‘60’s – baby oil and tinfoil, having no idea, among other things, that moisturizers were a part of wellness. Like Mickey Mantle (or maybe Mae West or George Burns) quipped, “If I’d known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.”

By the way, men have a distinct advantage when it comes to aging, because their skin is 20 to 30 percent thicker than women’s. This just gets more and more agonizing.

I had a shock a couple of months ago when I was shopping for watercolours. I soon became aware of a stooped lady following me around the mall. Then I realized there were mirrors everywhere, even in the elevator. Let me tell you, you don’t bounce back from that overnight.

I guess by growing older, this also means you should have the social acuity to “act your age,” like wearing age-appropriate clothes (apparently leggings and a matching leopard-print top have an expiration date), drinking age-appropriate drinks, and doing age-appropriate activities, but maybe doing one or two surprisingly young-like things (rollerblading, maybe, or being expelled- for “illicit drinking”) so that doesn’t seem like you’re trying too hard to let people know you’re still in the game. Most of this, though, just simply makes me tired. I mean, what’s the point?

But honestly, I never particularly had a desire to keep up, or even frankly, to sit up, having an inherently joint purpose with my bed. First, I have been around for so long that I’m re-reading the classics. Secondly, however arduous to admit, I am losing my grip strength and now have to remember to only go to places with low lighting.

Having long resigned myself to being essentially ignored, inconsequential, and unnoticed in fast food and bank queues by people not of the same age, I also have been accused of being a surly curmudgeon: vaguely cynical, furtive, temperamentally chilly, disapproving, and dismissive – but these are just signs that I’m a bit hard of hearing.

Although, sometimes it would be nice. Like a few weeks ago. I was driving down the street, minding my own business, when a cyclist shouted something at me. It was either “In the end the king and pawn go in the same box” or “Your brake lights are out.” My windows were up, so it was hard to hear.

But really, I hear when I want to.

And multi-tasking. It used to be that I could do twenty-seven things at once. Now it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do two things at once – especially to remember what both of them are. Things that happened in the mid-1980’s and Tuesday of last week, sit side by side in my memory. Like when I say “the other day”, it could be anywhere from yesterday to fifteen years ago. But this usually isn’t much a problem as long as I restrict my conversations to people older than me, although they are increasingly harder and harder to find these days.

I also have to contend with the enormous volume of everything I’ve done and wish to forget: user manuals, bad sex, pop culture, questionnaires, dental visits, and at least ten bank account passwords. But my vocabulary has increased. Ossified, oximeter, cataracts, liver spots, glucosamine sulphate, acid reflux…all extremely interesting words once you get to understand them.

I find as I wobble around the city, I’m like Fran Lebowitz, garrulously pointing out here and there memories and missing things: a gym where I once did 100 sit-ups – not in a row, the staircase where I suffered the tragedy of lusty, but unrequited love with an aristocrat from San Salvador, the apartment I lived in that always smelled like a combination of something that had been filtered through a sweat sock and a long-ago-sprayed bug treatment; continually haunted by what happened and what didn’t.

I recently read that older people can see a third less than young people in the dark. Something to do with the amount of light that they can let in. They also suffer from floaters, making walking about a bit like groping through a forest full of falling black leaves on a dark night. Not much good when someone young points out a humming bird on a tree branch, but extremely useful when faced with a check-yourself-in machine at the airport. “I’m so sorry, I simply can’t possibly do it myself. I can’t see a thing!”

The Jungian psychologist James Hillman asks a shocking question: could ageing itself be conceived of as an art form? Can we become larger, contain multitudes?

I don’t know about you, but I can finally hold a two-minute plank, just got off the brutal “W” trek in Chile almost unscathed, and can almost understand most of Wallace Stegner’s novels.

Maybe it’s time to age disgracefully. Jung in his wisdom, says that the goal in the second half of life, is to make it as interesting as possible. Personally, I think it’s a conspiracy of cluelessness.

Yet there is something cleansing about the loss of one’s looks and teeth, as there is about letting go of things once hoarded. It’s not so much a feeling of relief, but more of a challenge, a rite of passage. With luck, it can open the door to something that would be best described as character, if that didn’t sound so hopelessly old-fashioned.

Ageing is a process of editing. It means loving new things and discarding old things. It means living as you want to live, not as you should. You know those people you don’t like much? Well, don’t bother with them. If someone has said “we must do lunch” for the last 20 years and you haven’t, you certainly are not going to go now, just as you aren’t going to put on that little hot pink number you wore to that nightclub in Nassau.

We are now old enough to know what does not spark joy. Do you really want to go to a restaurant where they have substituted hamburger buns for doughnuts drizzled with mustard? No. Do you want to sit in bars where the music is so loud that you can’t order another mimosa from the waiter? No again. And believe me, nothing makes you feel older than drinking cheap white wine and making small talk with people who ask you about wills and white walls.

Nevertheless, I’m looking forward to getting my card from the King, or whoever’s at the helm at that moment.

Filed Under: Blog

Ask Karyn: Valentine’s Day Advice for Every Situation

February 13, 2024 by Karyn Elliott

As you are probably well aware, tomorrow is February 14. It is also Ferris Wheel Day. Probably related to Valentine’s Day. Of course, if you’re single, you can spend tomorrow spreading the word about Singles Awareness Day.

Yes, Valentine’s Day can hit us right in the feels. Some have the urge to duck and cover until the day passes. Some eat Rocky Road right out of the carton with a fork. Some spend part of their annual income on flowers, singing telegrams, battery-operated teddy bears and fuzzy socks. And then there are some who wait for National Discounted Chocolate Day.

But first things first. I’ve been advised by my very real lawyers that I can’t technically call myself an Advice Columnist. They suggest – Humble Public Service Conduit. Personally, I prefer “Relationship Guru”. The fact that I have a doctorate in literature is mere coincidence. Also, I’m older than most people realize.

In light of my impressive credentials, many people over the years have come to me in their time of need, and I’ve dispensed advice to soothe their souls, however harsh — like a discount store, one might say. If my certificate is meaningless to you, rest assured that I am also a Cancerian with the preternatural ability to know things without knowing how I know them, and really that’s all the qualifications anyone should need to tell people how to live their lives. Since I am a sucker for sappy love, I feel no guilt about giving advice on how to navigate this important non-holiday.

So as a Relationship Guru, I have chosen, in honour of The Day, to only take questions focusing on
LOVE. The big one. That almighty stumper of a question. What is it? Where do I find it? I have lost mine, can I have yours?

Love means you’re always saying you’re sorry.

Dear Relationship Guru (RG): I met this guy who at first seemed ideal: outdoorsy, fun-loving, attractive – his butt, the most sculpted thing since Michelangelo made David. But then I learned some things that are giving me second thoughts. It turns out he’s a convicted embezzler.Signed, Bowden Barb Dear Bowden Barb: We all have a past. Don’t worry about it.

Stop waiting for your prince on a white horse. Go and find him.
The poor man might be lost or stuck on an island or something.

Dear RG: I’ve got crushes on hundreds of people but I have never spoken to most of them. Why do I expect a crush to come and find me in my bedroom that I never leave?Signed, Tribe and TrueDear Tribe and True: Excessive crushing is not the problem here. The problem also isn’t with never leaving your bedroom. You don’t have to leave your room to meet people, or make friends, or turn a crush into something more, thanks to the expedient convergence of Snapchat and Twitch. Using these shows that you are open to connections and building solid relationships.

Relationships are like a walk in the park. Jurassic Park.

Dear RG:I am hung up on someone who lives in Puerto Rico. They have expressed what I would describe as lukewarm feelings bordering on actual feelings. Do I have to cut them off, at least until we’re in the same country again? Signed, Card Wired Dear Card Wired: Yes, long distance romance is gut-wrenchingly difficult even in the same country. However. And this is a big HOWEVER. I do not think your situation will be resolved by being in the same country. This is a deeper transportation issue. My practical advice is this: if you are hung up on this person to the degree that it is interfering with your ability to go to clubs, be charming, and explore new hobbies (romantic or otherwise), then you owe it to yourself to not trade in your Air Miles.

A burrito is totally an acceptable life partner, right?

Dear RG: I’m as romantic as the next guy, but my wife never seems to appreciate my Valentine’s Day gifts. Every year, I do my best to find my wife something special, but it never fails that I somehow let her down. Is a George Gorman grill, air fryer, or a crock pot such horrible gifts? She seems to love to cook and I love to eat. Am I not, technically, bringing us closer together? Signed, Kitchen CasanovaDear Kitchen Casanova: Although Cupid is a younger, shorter, diaper-wearing version of Santa, I have to tell you, you’re driving the right car, but heading down the wrong road. What you need to do is to pick an inexpensive restaurant and tell her you want to give her a night off. The food definitely won’t compare to what she makes for you on a nightly basis, but you want to show your appreciation. This certainly is a collaborative project that will bring you closer together, as well as fill your tummy. Besides, there is nothing more heart warming than seeing table after table filled with couples who haven’t been out for a nice meal together since last Valentine’s Day. Sentimentality just can’t be faked.

Love may be temporary, but memes last forever.

Dear RG: How do I get a girl to answer my texts? Signed, TeddyDear Teddy: One of my favorite works of literature said that if you want someone to think about you, leave a photo of yourself in their ham sandwich. I’m sure they will respond next time.

Facebook should have a limit on how many times you can change your relationship status. After 3 it should default to “Unstable”.

Dear RG: How do I handle Valentine’s Day as a poly person? I have three partners at the moment and want all of them to feel special. But divvying up the day for each feels weird and exhausting. What should I do?Signed, Many ValentinesDear Many Valentines: Handle the day by ignoring all of your partners. Instead, do your taxes. It wouldn’t be VD without a little emotional scarring.

Asking someone to marry you is a rather cruel thing to do to someone you care about.

Dear RG: I have been married for almost 15 years and I hold the position that I am no longer under any obligation to partake in the Valentine’s Day silliness. My wife begs to differ, her position is that “if I loved her” I would look forward to needlessly spending money on a silly manufactured custom.Signed, NOT Obligated Dear NOT Obligated: Not that I’m necessarily taking your wife’s side, but any declaration about romantic gestures that begins with “If you loved me…” is suspect at best. And I would object if she never did sweet things for you. But, dude, you’re putting up quite a a fight against buying her something touching and heartfelt. For example, you could pick out some pictures of yourself and print them out at London Drugs. They cost about 28 cents per image. Or a nice bath mat – something you’ve always wanted.

Current relationship status. Made dinner for two. Ate both.

Dear RG: I’m single for the first time in two years. What should I do with myself on Valentine’s Day? Signed, Singles Awareness DamselDear SAD: Whatever the heck you want. You have only to face the consequences. Watch an obscure Polish silent film. Eat Guacamole dip with your bare hands. If there was ever a time to be downing cocktails and the Marvin Gaye, it’s now. Incidentally, if you are more art-inclined, I highly recommend either nude drawing or a boudoir photography session.

My wife and I were happy for 20 years — then we met.

Dear RG: My significant other claims they don’t want to celebrate Valentine’s Day.Signed, Sentimental Sam Dear Sentimental Sam: This is a trap.

Non-holidays come and go, but it’s the gestures we remember.
Batteries not included.

Happily ever after,
RG

Filed Under: Blog

You’ve Got Mail

February 8, 2024 by Karyn Elliott

To: Love-less Listings
From: Crazy House Home Staging

As you are probably well aware, it will soon be February 14. It’s also Detached Homes Day. Probably related to Valentine’s Day.

Yes, Valentine’s Day can hit us right in the feels. Some have the urge to duck and cover until the day passes. Some eat Rocky Road right out of the carton with a fork. Some spend part of their annual income on flowers, singing telegrams, battery-operated teddy bears and fuzzy socks. And then there are some who wait for National Discounted Chocolate Day.

But first things first. I’ve been advised by my very real lawyers that I can’t technically call myself a Staging Advice Columnist. They suggest instead – Happily Ever After Public Service Conduit. And the fact that I have a doctorate in literature is mere coincidence.

Also, I’m older than most people realize. In light of my impressive credentials, over the past 24 years, many realtors have come to me in their time of need. Thus I have organized countless heart-stopping book shelves, pantries and closets to soothe their souls, however ruthless — like a container store, one might say.

If my certificate is meaningless to you, rest assured that I am also a Cancerian with the preternatural ability to do things without knowing how I do them, and really that’s all the qualifications anyone should need to tell people how to stage their listings.

Since I am a sucker for saleable houses, I feel no guilt about giving sage advice on how to set the stage for this important non-holiday.

“You had me at the welcome mat.”

Like swiping left on Tinder, buyers quickly dismiss a potential house just because, like going on a first date with a regrettable haircut, a questionable fashion decision, and enough makeup to paint a small yacht, it just doesn’t make a good first impression.

As buyers search online for potentials, I always wonder how they could possibly fall in love with a house showing photos of empty pizza boxes, snow shovels, and unmade beds.  I prefer bouquets of flowers, teddy bears in children’s rooms, fluffy white bathrobes, candles around the tub, and chocolates. Cause chocolate never asks stupid questions.

“I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a house, asking someone to buy it.”

Setting the scene is hard to do when it comes to selling a home, but it’s an important step if you want to sell to other people. I mean, our one task is to make friends with reality.

Sure, you could get away with a little “virtual staging”. But then, buyers meet in-person and…nothing! While an appealing image is critically important, the real thing should not disappoint.  You need to woo buyers toward that kind of match, to realize its full potential. It often only requires a couple of hours of accessorizing, de-cluttering, moving some furniture around, and hanging art well.

“It doesn’t matter if the guy is perfect or the house is perfect, as long as they are perfect for each other.”

Realtors are matchmakers in the middle of love connections. Buying a house is about facts and data, but also about chemistry and emotion. We want to make it love-at-first-sight: for just one meeting to know – this is THE ONE.

A home that imbues spaces with character and personality. Resulting in nothing short of a fairytale ending.

“I came tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life in a house, you want the rest of your life to start as possible.”

You want to put your best foot forward so buyers feel akin to being hit by Cupid’s arrow: lots of excitement.

This is where good staging comes in; it not only increases the value, diminishes your time and energy, shortens the time on the market, but leaving both homeowners and sellers happily ever after.

A perfect love story.

Filed Under: Blog

15 Ways to Keep Your Clutter

January 30, 2024 by Karyn Elliott

Ugh! Purging is really hard, especially if you’re someone like me who has implacable standards, a mediocre schedule, and an addiction to TikTok “conspiracy” theories about moon landings.

Insta-grammers are always posting pictures of gee-gaws and gimmicks to show that “there’s a way to display and store everything.” If that’s true, how come I can’t seem to find a way to exhibit my collection of ceramic squirrel egg cups I’d amassed in the nineties on eBay, for reasons that now elude me, or my vintage collection of “Sides of Houses” posters?

I know what you’re thinking: Couldn’t I frame up some of those posters and line my hallway with them?

Sure, but full disclosure. To be a highbrow designer/organizer like me, you have to be willing to be clever. And that’s gonna take hustle, drive, and early-morning runs.

I mean, who wants to look at a bunch of malnourished squirrels not holding hard boiled eggs lined up on a bookshelf? Besides, that’s where I keep my swim goggles, heart-shaped chocolate boxes, and appliance-related binders of impressive width.

Yes, I’m sure there are good solutions out there, but I’ll tell you this: I haven’t run into many. Every week or so, I peruse the local chapters of Big Box stores and watch old HGTV episodes mourning the lack of new and creative ways to appease my anxious attachment style. (which is why I tend to write so much about decluttering). Sometimes, I’ll even take time out of my day to wonder about how the economy works.

So today I want to make a case for:the colonial impulse to collect and own that collecting is natural and frequently underrated. The oddest things can have the best stories — and the most meaning.

Clutter is either a mindless attachment to the material — or a mindless indifference to it. Something that you are not enjoying on a daily basis.

No, I’m not talking about the “clutter”emporiums of bric-a-brac possessions stacked like a Jenga tower in your garage, basement or storage unit that you have clung to as if they were holy water in a scorched desert, or the clutter bubble-wrapped in guilt, or the clutter that Alexander Fleming left in his laboratory while he went away on vacation resulting in mold contaminating one of his petri dishes.

Nor am I defending pathological hoarder behaviour. Like Andy Warhol, for instance, who apart from being a formidable collector, was also a major hoarder. At the end of a day, he would often sweep the things on his desk—newspaper clippings, old letters, half a sandwich—into a carton, label it “T.C.,” for time capsule, date it, and store it.

So before you run screaming in search of garbage bags and socks that don’t match, note that there may be clutter that you should hang on to, rather than villainize and purge from your life in a heartless way; what Rob Walker calls“mindful materialism.”

Yes, I’m advocating and honouring the sort of, you know, hard to defend attraction we have for certain objects. Now the reason we often have a hard time parting with our most whacky, minuscule, oddball, or seemingly unimpressive tchotchkes, is because these objects resurrect and enhance memories of a time in our life, a trip we took, a person we knew, an experience we had, a feeling we had.

They evoke and are affiliated with meaning.

A elephant fashioned out of pop cans bought on the side of the road near Cape Town, a pencil holder you made in Grade Seven, a box of loose buttons from your grandmother, a necklace your friend gave you when she moved to Honolulu, your first pair of eyeglasses, a worn door handle decoration, a little leather camel, a rusty watering can. These items can have emotional resonance far beyond their monetary and provenance value. They have memorable value; nebulous, malleable and priceless in their own unique way.

Always Something Here to Remind Me

In this sense, I submit that some sentimental items are necessary: they symbolize values, capsulize memories, and tell life stories. And that is not something to be taken lightly.

“Keep the best of the best and declutter the rest.”

But remember, memorabilia is for retrieving pleasant memories, not miserable ones. For those, there are always websites, such as NeverLikedItAnyway.com that will buy your ex’s leavings, ranging from engagement rings to odd socks found under the bed.

Or a garage sale, a testament to the hours of preparation it takes to make $35.

Also PutItAtTheEndOfTheDriveway.com

Nowadays, when bland imitation is everywhere, your objects of choice should make you smile and pump in endorphins just by holding or looking at them. You don’t need to be able to mount a defence in a court of law to justify them. You just have to sort of say, “Look, this makes me happy.”

THE KEY is to find room for your special things without the room looking jumbled and random. You don’t want to make your things look like uninvited guests at a party and have rooms devoid of inspiration and emotion, but instead, a space that feels homey, to be able to say, “This is my place, my fortress, my safe place.”

By all means, jettison your belongings when you recognize that the amount of stuff you own has impacted a home’s ability to function as it should, or prevents you from performing tasks well.

But before performing a Wild West showdown by renting a large U-Haul, recover your sense of agency and dig through that treasure chest of trinkets that has a story to tell, a memory to revive, an experience to remember. These objects that fertilize eye-watering comfort are bridges to other people, places, and times. It’s the poignant interplay between your senses, memories, and emotions.

Each person has a story that should be told about their lives and their joy and their losses, and all of that stuff.

Maybe the point is to proofread and edit the past tense of your life story — so you can continue writing it in the present tense. Cause some things are meant to be seen and touched.

Well, it’s almost dark and I still have to find a place for my toothpick collection.

Filed Under: Blog

Superheroes that Conquer the Staging Blues

January 10, 2024 by Karyn Elliott

It’s a bird…. It’s a plane…it’s…

When people hear ‘Superheroes’, they immediately think of Dead Pool, Spider-Man, Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and that’s about it.

Some wear questionable tights, sport colourful capes, and have traits such as guarding the galaxy, controlling a swarm of bees, acquiring gills to swim underwater…and some – the hired-hero ability to sell a house profitably.

Sellers often expect realtors to be Superheros: to get results “faster than a speeding bullet”, to have “X-ray vision” by seeing things through, and come to the closing table by “leaping tall buildings in a single bound”.

The training, paperwork, negotiations, erratic hours, driving on Deerfoot, another cold coffee — there are a host of logistical problems that would stymie even the best of heroes. Day in and day out. No, it’s not easy to be a realtor–superhero. But even the strongest superheroes must have their aids.

Every Superhero has an Arch Nemesis

I’ll bet that some of your listings are so cluttered and unorganized that sometimes it crosses your mind to leave a “Dear Burglar” note, urging any intruder to help themselves.

Dimensional storage is a trope in comic books that has characters pull objects from a space where they wouldn’t typically fit, the result of spatial manipulation.

At first, the ability to organize anything with very few constraints or limitations sounds like it could only earn a hero a notable place in the annals of selling history. However, while it doesn’t necessarily offer any major combat advantages when it comes to breaking into or out of things such as safes or prisons, it is shockingly helpful when selling a house.

   The Kryptonite Weakness

Whether it’s in a bathroom cabinet, kitchen cupboard, or closet, a hero can store anything so long as it fits through the entry point. It’s a trick that redefines the concept of organizational genius.

There is no storage issue that can’t be taken on.

Shape shifter
Gather cleaners and tools in a caddy which can simply be pulled out, used, and put back.

A caped crusader
In times of duress, the fortification of closets can bring immeasurable profit.

Invisibility
There often is space beneath a bed, so make full use of it by sliding boxes underneath. As long as it’s hidden from view.

Alternative Versions
See-through containers are essential when you need to grab and go: choose acrylic, plastic, or glass holders.

Defenders
Rely on risers to keep items organized and to double up on storage space.

A plan of attack
Hooks – so simple, so helpful! Hang them anywhere in an entry, hallway, or bedroom and they will instantly become decorative AND storage.