You want to know how cold it is here? Well, it’s cold enough for me to have spent Sunday afternoon watching television shows about people who ‘hoard’ stuff. Halfway through an all-day marathon, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I got off the couch and started sorting through my own junk. This is what I found.
Easily the most disgusting treasures that I came across were three dental impressions of my mouth. Suffice to say, I used to have really yucky teeth. This is no longer the case. But, interestingly enough, despite having so many oral plaster castings, if necessary, none of the ones I’ve saved could be used to identify my decomposed corpse. Still, until I can ascertain whether these impressions should be recycled or simply tossed in the trash, I’ve put them back where I found them.
I also rediscovered the 57 colorful, plastic Moo-spoons that I collected during the “weighty” years of my addiction to Oberweis Frost Bites. (They are like DQ’s Blizzards, only infinitely more tasty.) Since I collected these with my future grandchildren, in mind, Monday, I attempted to feed the pTiny pTerodactyl with one. Unfortunately the baby nearly poked his eye out with it, so I had to put them away again until next year when his hand-eye coordination is a little more developed.
While digging through my dust-bunny-filled closet, I uncovered some shoes that I cannot get rid of. I recently wrote a post about them, so will spare repeating their story here. (But if you really want to hear about them click on the picture.)
And finally I found this. Many years ago, just before she died, my mother gave me a box of quite literally…junk. Among the debris is an album of faded-to-beyond-readable newspaper clippings that some relative, Mom could never remember who, had collected and pasted to form a book. Also there is a chipped, stained coffee mug that my father used to (when it still had an attached handle) drink his morning coffee out of; a vinyl navy blue handbag, with a broken clasp, that had belonged to Mom’s Mom. According to my mother, she, (my mom) could always smell the perfume that her mother (my grandmother) used to wear every time she (my mom) opened it (the handbag). Sadly, I never could smell anything but must and mold.
When my mother gave me that box, she said it was a connection to her mother and she could never bring herself to throw it away; she wanted me to dispose of it after she herself had passed on. Well, I can’t bring myself to do it either. Therefore, I have secured, without visually sharing its contents with my kids, that cardboard carton with a roll of mailing tape under which I have written in bold, permanent marker:
DO NOT OPEN! AFTER I’M GONE, JUST HAUL THIS TO THE CURB ON TRASH DAY!
Hope my kids are better listeners than I was. Besides, between my shoes, plaster teeth and Moo-spoons they’ll have plenty of junk of mine to fill their basements.
This is part of Friday Blog Hops. Thanks to Create With Joy and Crafty Spices for hosting.