As life goes on, the junk piles up. That realization hit many recently as they drudged up dusty collections out of the basement in an effort to clean up after the flood that struck the province.
"Why am I hanging on to these?" and "When will I ever use this?" we asked ourselves as boxes of old toys, kitchen implements, clothes and shoes were brought up from the dark and damp depths of our homes.
Much of what I was storing in the basement seemed quite strange once displayed in the bright light of the upper levels of the house. A box of glass jars stood out to all who saw it, especially considering that I have never canned anything in my life!
I don't consider myself a hoarder, but I do have trouble letting go of some things. It's not as though I have piles of old newspapers lying around (except the last three and a half years of Weyburn This Week!).
I have a few pieces of vintage clothing from the 1960s and 70s that are far too loud and hideous to wear, beyond Halloween anyways, but I cannot seem to part with them. I have shoes, horribly out of style, that I keep because a wise woman once told me that you can never have too many shoes. I found enough winter clothing in my basement to clothe an entire village of Inuits, which will probably never happen, but you never know.
This is the excuse that comes up time and time again when I attempt to clear out some of my accumulated junk: you never know when you may need it.
I could count on one hand how many times I have thrown something out and then actually needed it. But that "what if" eats at me until I end up putting the old item right back where I found it, rather than out the door where it belongs.
People ask me why I don't have a garage sale or donate the unused items to charity and my answer is simple - it's all junk, but it's MY junk!
I can open any box in that basement and relate it to a memory. When I go through my box of old purses that I will never use I am reminded of the times I had when I wore them...the silver one with missing beads was part of my graduation outfit; the embroidered butterfly purse I lost at a concert in Calgary that was amazingly returned to me; and so on.
They say that for every season there is a purpose, but I say for every piece of junk there is a story. Happy hoarding!
