Swedish Death Cleaning Begins

Lately, I've become more aware of my own mortality. Maybe it's COVID, maybe it's the birth year on the driver's license. Whatever the cause, I've realized that it's time to start my Swedish Death Cleaning. Last July, I set the ambitious goal of getting rid of 1,000 items by December 31st (it didn't happen), and this year, my first-quarter Game Changer is to finish getting rid of 1,000 objects.

That means I need to discard, donate or give away six items every single day for three months. Yikes!

In order to facilitate the Death Cleaning Process, I've decided to read a book every week for the entire year. Maybe I'll keep a few books, if they're extraordinary. More likely, they will begin their one-way journey to a new home via Bookman's or the local library bookstore.

Link to Little, Brown

LET'S EXPLORE DIABETES WITH OWLS by David Sedaris

It's the first book on my 50-book list. In 2013, I heard an interview with David Sedaris on NPR and knew then that I wanted to read Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls. But you know how it is when you're driving – you think you'll remember; you always forget. A few years later, I was on an Aggressor liveaboard, shuffling through the cabinet of ragged bodice-rippers and nearly new bestsellers when I discovered Sedaris's book. 

If you're a scuba diver, you know that a liveaboard vacation consists of three activities: you dive, you eat and you sleep. Any spare moments are spent at the laptop poring over underwater photos or sunning yourself sleepily on the deck. Before bed, maybe you'll spend a few minutes sipping wine and marveling at the stars while moonlit waves lap gently against the side of the boat. Reading is reserved for tedious hours in the cramped little island terminal or for the long flight home.

So when we're packing for our return flight, those of us who love the scent and feel of real paper head for the galley to rummage through the shelf of abandoned books. We unload the edifying classics we meant to read but didn't; we return the trashy novels we borrowed the first day and finished during the week; and we comb through the stacks hoping for an undiscovered gem. I found my treasure wedged between a thick Tom Clancy knock-off and a self-help book, hidden behind an entire first row of more popular tomes: David Sedaris's first edition of Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls. Of course I took it with me to read on the airplane.

But you know how it is when you're flying. You'll think you'll read, then decide to watch a movie instead. Or you drift off, book open in your lap, and open your eyes to find the stewardess collecting last-minute trash. You tuck in a corner of a napkin, snap the book shut and stuff it in your carry-on just before landing. Then the book sits unread on your shelf for a few more years.

So it was with David Sedaris's Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls.

Just the wind?

 In Colossians 3, Paul admonishes us to set our mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth. That's problematic, because no human is able to directly perceive the things above. Our senses are filled with things that are on earth, and our brains are exquisitely attuned to pleasure. Life here consumes our attention and our affections.

But why shouldn't our lives here be worthy of our full attention? We can't see or clearly imagine the things above. We would be hard-pressed to even name them, although if Paul asked me to make a list, Jesus and God the Father would be right at the top, along with angels hovering in a throne room. I can't picture those angels, however. With their bizarre configurations of eyes and wings, Old Testament angels don't resemble humans. Perhaps it would be easier to meditate on abstractions like faith, hope, and love or to visualize the saints who have gone before.

What's here with me now is a cup of steaming coffee, with cream and sugar. A half-eaten bag of Dorito corn chips, irresistibly crunchy and delicious. A fresh breeze lifting the edges of the curtain at my window. The memory of a doe, heavy with this year's unborn fawn, nosing through the grass outside my gate in search of acorns. A nondescript little flycatcher bouncing along cheerily through the weeds. The sound of a dog barking in the distance.

The wind swaying through the limbs of the junipers outside may be reminiscent of the movement of the Holy Ghost (that's how Jesus would have seen it) but as nearly as I can tell for now, the wind is simply the wind.

Photo: "deer - Newport News Va." by watts_photos is licensed under CC BY 2.0