A quick question before bed
Kasia September 28th, 2008
How, exactly, did I manage to achieve such magnificent levels of packrattitude?
I can understand keeping some things for sentimental reasons. My old oboe, for instance, although even at the peak of my playing I used to drive our poor old collie to distraction with the racket. Still – in a weird way it’s like an old friend, so I don’t fault myself for having kept it this long, and I’m not committed (yet) to giving it away.
No…I’m speaking more generally. Do you know the last time I played racquetball, for instance? Hint: probably since before I met the Canuck, so five years or so at least. Probably more. Yet I found a can of balls tonight, in a bag with my old tante’s “kitchen witches” (German tradition) that I had been going to offer to my brother when she died…five years ago…just as an example…
The scary thing is, I’ve made significant progress and have actually gotten rid of a fair bit of stuff in the past couple of years. Apparently I was only scratching the surface. Anyone else remember the scene in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader where Eustace keeps scratching off the dragon skin, only to find another smaller layer underneath, such that Aslan eventually has to strip it all off?
Yeah. It’s a little like that.
Oh yes, I’ve always been like that, too. This summer we had a BIG garage sale – people kept asking us, “Are you moving?” and I was rather embarrassed to have to admit, “No, this is just extra stuff we had in the basement!” And when it was all over, I swear the basement hardly looked any different than the day before!
I am in the middle of a HUGE decluttering. Getting rid of “stuff” will set you free…
Well, it should gratify you to know that this appears to be an inborn trait for you – you have been a packrat since you were old enough to say “Mine!”
I’d offer to help, but sometimes being a Big Seester is knowing that you stress the Leetle Seester out when you offer to help her.
TBS
I’ve wondered how long one keeps T-shirts from events or jobs.
Like my Alanis Morissette one. I can’t wear it in front of the kids, as she’s nude on the front, but I can’t bear to part with it. Dale and I went to see her twice in concert.
I also have some shirts from working for the City, and I haven’t done that since before we were married. We’ll be celebrating our ninth anniversary in three weeks.
I even still have some of the shirts from the schools that hired me and I haven’t been in them for roughly five years, and I almost never wear them (laundry day is about it).
Why are they still in my closet?!
It’s an Eastern European/poverty/immigrant thing, I’m convinced. We hadda live in cramped quarters and stuff all of our possessions into a single trunk to cross the Atlantic. Ergo we cling to every last rag, every last book, every last scrap of paper we have.
I may be the exception that proves the rule, Joe.
I’m third generation from one grandparent, fourth from another, and at least fifth from the other set. I never heard any crossing-the-ocean-with-only-a-satchel stories.
Perhaps it’s the survival of the Depression? “We have to keep that since we don’t know if we’ll be able to afford another should we need it someday?”
Okay, I’ll modify that to: leftover cultural trait from our immigrant/Depression/WWII heritage. (Kinda general, I know.)
It’s because maybe you could USE it someday! You know, like cut the raquetballs in half, paint dots on them and use them as eyes for your grandchildren’s puppets. (Yes, “grandchildren” is a scare word!)
Everyone I know is packrat except my mother, but she’s also the one who frowns when I tell her I threw out the worn-out towel I’ve had since ‘87. Probably because I could have used it for a cleaning rag, as if I don’t have enough of those already.
As a recovering squaloree, I highly suggest you keep a box handy at all times for donations to charity. Take it away every other week.
And itemize as you go. I have several boxes taking up space in the kitchen because I waited to make a list.
Heather, make those your designated cleaning shirts. I had several shirts from the company I used to work for, and that was the best way to get rid of them. (Because I didn’t live in a town that allowed bonfires.)
Also, Clamster, if you ever want a cleaning buddy, please let me know.