REFLECTIVE MOMENTS
Foil plates and margarine tubs might come in handy
Some fact-checking is required but if memory isn’t failing me, one of the resolutions I made to myself at the beginning of 2018 was to be less of a pack-rat to show some measure of the neatness passed down from the ancestors.
It is now time to do an analysis of the success of that particular resolution.
Verdict, with 1 being poor and 10 being beyond expectations — I’m just lucky a minus 1 wasn’t offered as a choice. In other words, I have failed miserably to downsize the amount of “stuff” that is deemed necessary to the smooth operation of the household. Housemate has suggested my predilection to saving or hoarding everything that comes within my sight comes from the fact my parents endured some very poor and difficult times and that waste not, want not mentality was passed down to me. It was one of the lessons in which I received top marks.
He might laugh at me for saving what I do, but whereas my Mom would save pieces of foil for use a second time, my foil fetish is an impressive collection of foil pie plates, foil baking dishes, and foil dishes suitable for carrying to a potluck supper, and home again. He forgets, in his quest to encourage me to get rid of some of my collection, that I did share dozens of pie plates with my friend, who returns them to me with pies — so it isn’t entirely my fault that my stash stays about the same size.
Plastic containers have a place of honour in our cupboards, and in bags downstairs in the storage room. Housemate has offered to donate some of these containers to worthy causes and local charities and I don’t hesitate to offer some, but definitely not the margarine tubs, the sour cream dishes, not even the see-through bins that contained glazed fruits and peels. And he definitely hasn’t convinced me to throw out the higher-class brands of containers like Glad and Ziplock and Tupper Ware. Why just before Christmas I dug out some of those containers and used 15 of them to make my Christmas pudding. What would I have done if I hadn’t stashed them away downstairs? He shakes his head and walks away.
We have towels and face cloths and pillow cases that each of us brought into the marriage and some we received as wedding gifts. I have a sentimental attachment to then, remembering the names of the old friends who gifted us, and sadly, are no longer with us. Is it too much to honour their memories by keeping a towel with a hole in the middle or a dish towel on which the liquid embroidery has faded completely away?
I admit our living-room is a catch-all for boxes and bags, much of it materials needed upstairs on a regular basis and brought up from the basement to save me from going up and down the steps. Many boxes contain printed materials and papers from some organizations to which I belong. Even with computers and digital capabilities, I like to have a paper copy available, just in case the power goes off. Certainly I am somewhat disgruntled at my lack of downsizing success and do offer apologies to anyone who happens to drop by. “Come in if you can get in,” is a common phrase offered at the doorstep, usually to people who have known us for decades and won’t be shocked to see the things I keep, and where I keep them. Others who drop by might not get off the step. And now they know why. And about the stand-up vacuum: it is in a handy spot, acting as it does as a hanger for a coat or two. And if the urge to clean strikes, I don’t have to search for it or to remember in which room it is stored.
So, have I made a similar resolution to throw out stuff this new year? Perhaps. A report next year at this time will reveal the full answer. For Moose Jaw Express