I don't have to watch any of those reality TV shows to know about hoarding. There are close encounters all around. It can be both secretive, and in your face.
Years ago we wanted to rent a bungalow and approached the owner who lived around the corner. The house had been sitting empty for a couple of years and it seemed reasonable she would like to make some money off of it. When we knocked on her door, she opened it just wide enough to stick her head out. I didn't think anything of it, but it should have been a warning.
And maybe not letting us see inside the single car old-time garage was another clue. Oh, and the stacks of magazines piled up a couple of feet high against the outside of the double doors. She said she was saving them for mulch. But there wasn't a garden.
When she took us inside the house it was empty, except for the basement. There she stored miscellaneous furniture. That included a large, painted table. A three dimensional monkey sat in the middle. It was about fifteen inches tall, brown, with a cute face. The odd thing was, it didn't have plush fur but appeared to be covered in frosting. Yeah, cake frosting. So was the body beneath it petrified cake?
I thought of Miss Havisham, Charles' Dickens' disappointed bride. Her cake was swathed in spider webs. The monkey wasn't as old. I wondered but didn't ask. The landlady said she would remove it. Not throw it out. Remove it. Which she did, (where to?), and we moved in.
She literally lived 500' away. We always took the rent check over, and she always cracked the door open enough for her arm to snake and snatch the check. We never glimpsed the interior.
That's a tip-off that the saver has disintegrated from stashing to trashing.
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| Toys R Us |
A distant family member hadn't let anyone in for years. We suspected, but didn't know how bad it was until she had a health emergency. While she recovered, the family went in to clean. They found meandering tracks between the rooms through mountains of printed matter. It was like walking through the tunnels in an ant farm. The debris from one room filled a small dumpster, and turned up a substantial amount of cash.
Genetically closer, another relative just says, "Don't go up there. And don't touch anything!" Oh-kay.
Those are the stealthy stashers.
Out here in the country, gathering and guarding happen outside for all to see. Treasures spill over from the garage to the yard-- stacked, covered, and sometimes fenced in.
If the porch is packed floor to ceiling, I'm bettin' the house is full too.
If I don't let you in next time you come over, call my kids.
Being married, for better or for worse, includes your spouse's hoarding.
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| my husband's end table |
My husband is a bibliophile. He has many, many books. Early in our marriage he thought I didn't notice the new ones. But I eventually spotted them (and calculated how much they cost. )
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| my craft closet |
Likewise, he watched my stash of fabric and yarn grow from modest, to significant, to indulgent. He also noted the completion rate of projects from said collection. Some projects I finished quickly, some hung around for years! He pretended to number them and would say, "Is that unfinished project 492?"
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| projects 600 and 601 |
My daughter's issue was shoes. Can anyone relate? My son-in-law recently remodeled her bedroom closet. Of course, all of the shoes, boots, and sandals had to be moved. He categorized and counted them. She was shocked to see them in a large pile and sorted through them. She made some Goodwill shopper very happy with her contribution.
One friend has a bigger job ahead of her. Her husband noticed that their large freezer was completely full. They haven't had to feed ravenous teenagers for years and his curiosity kicked in. His inventory showed they had more steaks, roasts and pounds of hamburger than they could eat in a year. While she defended the purchases because they were such good deals, she agreed to quit buying and start cooking.
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| photo by Xandert |
As Americans we have the luxury of buying more than we need. (And I am not talking about TV-worthy hoarding, just too much of a good thing.) It's not a healthy mindset however. Some of my beautiful woolens were eventually ruined by moths. Unused meat can even go bad in a freezer. And shoes are better worn than forgotten.
I'm grateful for my husband's teasing. It helped me reduce the resources I'd accumulated to use "someday." Likewise, he gave away books.
Do you struggle with how much is enough? What have you learned in the process?
