After a few years of this, my house, as you can imagine, became very crowded. It was so filled with "stuff" that I no longer knew what I had, never mind what I liked. My home had become a museum of strange items that I dusted around but no longer understood. I felt disconnected from my own belongings.
My immediate reaction to this was that I had no power over the situation, I just had to live forever with my ostrich feathers and dusty tables. Well, I lived with this thought for about an hour or so, then I decided to take everything off the walls. A day later my home looked like a very disorganized flea market. I was horrified at what I had accumulated and I decided to try and make sense of it all. After analysis and a cup of tea I knew there was no meaning at all to what I had done, I was just someone who had a lot of stuff.
So, I decided to approach my home the way that they do style makeovers on television. I began to weed out what didn't "fit" me anymore. It sounds so simple but I was amazed at how many things I either didn't like anymore or had never liked in the first place. I have to confess that amidst the debris were a lot of unwanted gifts from people who love me very much.
Which brings me to the title of my story. Fifteen years ago I was given a wooden duck decoy as a present. Even as I write it I stop and pause, I still can't believe that anyone who knows me would think that I would enjoy a duck decoy. I don't hunt and I don't collect ducks. Did I mention that the wings lifted off to reveal a swiss army knife nestled inside? Opening this present tested every bit of my English upbringing. I knew it was given to me because the person truly thought it was cute and that I would love it as much as he did. I said thank you very much and took the duck home.
I stared at the duck for a week. It could not live in my house. This didn't mean that I did not like the person who gave it to me, it just meant that I did not like duck decoys.
Fifteen years later I was surrounded by metaphorical ducks.
One of my dearest friends told me that she accepts a gift knowing that it is given with love. This does not mean that she has to like it, or keep it. When she said this I was shocked, it seemed so callous and ungracious. I was even more shocked when I realised that some of my gifts had obviously joined her relocation program. How could she not love all of my presents? But as I thought about I knew she was right, she wisely kept only the things that she genuinely loved.
With this in mind I began to fill my home with things that had meaning; books I wanted to read, photographs of places and people, rocks, shells, vintage jewelry, anything that made me smile. Many things are just enough to provoke a memory and some have been passed down from friends and family. I can tell you what everything is, where it came from and why it matters to me.
It's been a few years now since I took the museum pieces of the wall, and I still change my home when I need to. I have became almost childish in my endeavours to inject personality into my home. I gleefully tell myself that it is my house and I can do what I want. If I want to paint the bathroom aqua, hang giant clocks on the wall and decorate the living room with rusty furniture then that's what I will do.
I am happy to have it reflect who I am, a canvas that I can adjust or direct as needed. The ostrich feather dress has been moved upstairs, but it still hangs on a wall; I never tire of looking at how beautiful it is and I know that one day I will put it on and dance around the house..............just because I can!
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