Home Is Where the Heart Is -- And A Ton of Junk

Today, while attempting to lessen the load of a few dresser drawers, I came across a small box of metal zippers. Not being totally bereft of common sense it suddenly struck me. How long has it been since I’d seen a metal zipper and are they even manufactured anymore? I think not – they’ve gone the way of the wild goose along with a lot of other things I’ve hoarded over the years. Considering my find some kind of phenomenal “head’s up,” I began sorting through a lot of other stuff – which I’ve not put off just never thought about weeding out.

It’s amazing how one can gather up stuff, with every intention of using it, but then putting it in a good place and forgetting about it for years. . . but back to my search. The next intriguing thing I found was not one but two drawers of fabrics – all sizes and colors – and dress making patterns from the late seventies and early eighties. Now, there’s a real fashion statement for you. T’was then I realized I still had one or two garments, made from those patterns, still hanging in my closet! That was the push I needed to go to the closets next and try to dispose of all the old stuff still taking up space.

The zippers, patterns and fabric weren’t that difficult to part with as due to being a one-eyed person these days I don’t sew anymore. Threading the needle on a sewing machine has become akin to herding cats these last few years and I’ve found that the length of time it takes to put the thread through that minute hole isn’t the problem – being very short on patience is.

But onward to the great closet pare-down. I not only found the clothes I’d made from 30-year old patterns but lots of other stuff that could go in a museum for the unneeded and forgotten. I especially had a lot of stuff, including boots (of the western persuasion) that were worn out and totally useless except for my journeys down memory lane – which happen often to someone that’s lived nearly three-quarters of a century.

Throwing caution to the winds I began making a pile of cowboy boots, bereft and shapeless western hats, a pair of chinks and one pair of chaps that had definitely seen better days (they even had a few thorns left in the fringes). A couple of pairs of rusted old spurs topped that pile of stuff and I declared one closet “done.” That’s the point my “born-at-the-end-of-the-great-depression” mind took over and I decided what I was considering trash just might be someone else’s treasures?

Having been an eBay nut in years past – it takes a lot of time and I’ve since given that up – I reverted to “why not?” – fired up my eBay account and listed most of my cowgirl memorabilia for auction. That’s when I found there’s a lot of interest out there in old, western stuff beyond my wildest imagination. Folks looked at my outdated treasures in droves, asked tons of questions, and bid like crazy – and suddenly everything was gone. From there it was a matter of getting it all mailed out – which can be a formidable task but it’s now done.

The great get-rid-of-it adventure is still underway but I got bored doing it and began to think about it – logically. I’m getting’ in the short rows of life and who’s going to want all this junk when I’m on the other side of the dirt? My nieces assure me there’s a lot of the old family heirlooms they definitely want – and that’s fine – but what about the rest? What about tons of books (which I treasure), glassware (which I’ve collected umpteen years), albums full of pictures (nobody knows who the people in the picture are but me) and gee-gaws I refuse to part with? The answer is. . . nobody. . . and that’s just a given.

Why do human beings collect, gather and save so much junk? It’s a history of how one person thought. It’s a backward road-map of one soul that passed this way on this old planet. It’s a statement saying “I was here, I was like no other and unique. . . I lived!" That being said, I’m not advocating a “stuff” mentality – stuff is just part of daily living – that which we need and that which is useless but treasured.

So the beat goes on, I’m still sorting stuff, and the garbage man probably thinks my main purpose in life is to make his job difficult. Passers by seem to be enjoying my efforts as every morning there’s evidence of someone stopping, sorting through the boxes and bags and taking what interests them. That’s proof positive that my taste in junk is shared by at least a few others.

As to what’s left when I’m done and gone? Well, like I said, my family will want a tiny bit of it and the rest. . . who knows? I’ve already instructed them I want to be cremated and my ashes dumped in my beloved Brazos River – no memorials, no headstone no yata-yata and they’ve assured me they’ll honor my wishes.

Am I planning on my departure in the near future? Nope – I’m planning on being around a long time and irritating the hell out of everyone in my dotage (I’m told I’ve already got a good start on that) BUT. . . the question remains of what to do with all this junk I’ve collected and I think I’ve come up with the answer.

First of all, I’m going to be in charge of what happens to my junk even though I’ve gone on to glory so I made a little purchase a couple of days ago. I bought a box of wood matches (you know, the kind that has the “striker” on the side), placed the box in a prominent place and wrote a note to go with it that reads as follows:

It took nearly a century to collect this junk – all stuff for which I yearned

Take what you want, give away the rest, and strike a match – it’ll burn!

Damn, I’m glad that’s taken care of!

AngelaBlair©2012 All Rights Reserved.