I Am Not a Hoarder

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I am not a hoarder. No one walks into my apartment and wonders where they are going to sit. They have the choice of a 3-seater couch, a 2-seater love seat or an overstuffed matching chair for one normal sized or two skinny minnies. They can sit on one of 4 dining room chairs, 4 kitchen chairs and if I take the planter off the stool they can sit there as well. So – I’ll repeat – I am not a hoarder per se but … well let me put it this way … I am a keeper … a keeper of things that should have been trashed a long, long time ago.

Example 1

Some time ago I received a picture in my Hotmail account inbox from a full-time RVing friend of mine. The picture was taken in Niagara Falls, Ontario, of her beautiful border collie, Brady, with his sweet black and white face resting on my lap while my hands stroked his soft, furry face and body. He just lay there like a lump enjoying all the attention I was lavishing on him. He was a couple of years old at the time and such a sweet boy. There were other pictures of him as well because Hunter used to photograph him with sunglasses and a powder blue tam that suited him to a tee but it was the picture of him and me that really caught my attention. After leaving Niagara Falls he had lived a very good and long life, had been gone for a couple of years at this point and while looking at the picture I realized, to my horror, that I was still wearing the same t-shirt that I had been wearing in the picture taken at least ten or twelve years earlier.

Example 2

I had been living in my Surrey, British Columbia apartment for about four or five years at the time and for me early summers and early falls were spent in our complex swimming pool. Since most of my towels were considered bath-sized, assuming of course, that you were bathing in a bathinette, I chose to use a bright orange bath towel (for real grown up people) that my husband had found on some white-sandy beach in Mexico. He had used it for years and by the time I got a hold of it, it was beginning to look a little ratty. Okay, perhaps it was more than a little ratty. The edges were frayed, some of the binding had to be cut away because it was hanging off the towel in half-inch wide strips and you could actually see right through the towel in spots because of wear and tear. When some of my neighbours offered to purchase a new beach towel for me I knew that it was time to throw it away – and I did … but not before I cut it into strips to use as polishing cloths for the next few years.

Example 3

Yesterday, August 25, 2015 another one of my t-shirts bit the dust and it was one of my favourites. It was a Faded Glory, 3X size made at a time when 3X was actually huge, 65% cotton 35% polyester, light grey with black stripes. I don’t remember exactly when I bought it but I know that I was in the early years of being a full-time RVer. I spent 10 years without a home anywhere and have now lived in my apartment nine years so you figure it out. It was the most comfortable t-shirt to sleep in and that’s what I did for at least the last 10 or so years; however, the black stripes suddenly started disintegrating leaving long slits in the material where the black had been. I could understand it if my ample and perky breasts strained against the material and pokes holes but at over 70 years old nothing is perky and nothing pokes … awwww well … such is life.

One day I will go through my closets and drawers and pitch out other pieces of my past life. At some point everything except the navy blue sweatshirt with yellow at the collar will end up in a trash bag in some landfill someplace. I will keep forever the sweatshirt that belonged to my husband Paul who died 23 years ago and perhaps on long, lonely nights I will wear it just to feel his arms tight around me.


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