Inside Hundreds Of Little Boxes, And Some Big Ones Too

The very existence of The Container Store tells me there's something seriously wrong with modern life.

I won't argue that we don't need containers, or that containers themselves are evil. Simply browsing through any sales circular will show you that most Americans have so much stuff that we don't know where to put it. The Closet Store will put shelves in your closets; the Container Store gives you containers to put on the shelves. And then there are thousands of Stuff Stores, in case you have any space left in all those containers.

In our house, it's board games and books. The things breed. Oh, and CDs. They're in stacks, on racks, on shelves, in corners. One entire wall is insulated with books; the basement has four tall shelves for board games (Carcassonne anyone? How about Starfleet Battles? There are two shelves of SFB modules. Cosmic Encounter? Railway Tycoon? Thebes? Oh, and if you really must, there's Monopoly and Scrabble.)

We should get a copy of The Container Game, but ironically, we have nothing in which to store it.

Jesus said to consider the lilies of the field; they don't spin, but God provides for them. Sometimes I wish God had provided us with pouches like kangaroos, only I'd have run out of space in mine long since, and I'd have to hop over to The Pouch Store and see if I could get it enlarged. With little sub-pockets for my keys and a comb.

Back in college, I could cram everything I owned into my Honda Civic. My needs aren't appreciably different now (oxygen, clothing to shield you from my nakedness, food) and yet when we moved last summer, it took two trucks for a family of six. My student-mobile would have wept, and I wanted to as well.

It's not that these things are evil things. If they were, it'd be easy to head through the house with a trash bin (there we go again with the containers) and pull out the items marked with the devil head. Most of them are good. The real problem is how we go through life with a permanent case of static cling and the self-discipline of a magpie in a tinsel factory.

In the end, our animal natures tell us to feather that nest, make it comfortable, and "Ooh, shiny!"

Meanwhile our spiritual natures long to shed this stuff and make space, make simplicity and order.

Thus: The Container Store. Satisfy both natures at the same time. Keep your animal nature happy by owning two hundred board games, and your spiritual nature satisfied by not having to see them around.

We know it's not sustainable: all those containers everywhere!

That's why we have walk-in closets.

Jane Lebak is a lot more interesting online than in real life. She has one husband, four children, two cats, one novel out of print, and one novel in print. The resulting chaos ends up on her weblog at http://philangelus.wordpress.com.