Treasures

I've been cleaning again.

As always, the first thing that comes to my mind is the question, "Why did I keep all this stuff?'

Okay, I admit, I come by my pack rat mentality naturally.

Grandpa's little bungalow was neat as a pin but crammed to the rafters with "stuff". Grandpa had glassware from every deceased relative in the history or the family. His unmatched kitchen chairs rivaled the many bowls and plates in quantity.

Having been a farmer is his early years, Grandpa refused to give up his stash of "it might be useful someday" treasures. His shed featured things like an ancient post hold digger, a bone crusher, and a two seater (perhaps in case the plumbing in his Minneapolis home failed and he would have to resort to digging an outhouse.)

When Grandpa moved into the city, he'd taken a job as a garbage man. Numerable items of interest then entered his life.

Even after retiring, Grandpa stalked the alley on trash day. Years ago a college aged girl from our church asked us to pray about a special dress she would need in a few months. The next day Grandpa asked me if I knew anyone who needed a wedding dress. Needless to say, I claimed it for Terri, who found it to fit perfectly.

My father, like his own, was a saver, although not nearly as neatly organized. Dad, who came of age during the Great Depression years, saved ice cream pails, wires from old electronics, and pieces to games and puzzles no one in the family owned. If, eventually, he couldn't find a use for the "stuff" he glued the small things to cigar boxes and spray painted them gold. (In case there were not enough small things, he would fill in the gaps with macaroni. Seriously.

Sometime after his passing as we cleaned the basement of the house where he and Mom had lived for over 40 years, we found a jar of peach pits. We all smiled at Dad dutifully saving peach pits for a future spray painted project.

Which brings me to my bulging closets.

Stay tuned. I sense a garage sale in the making.