Hoader or Saver of all good things?
I was reading a blogger's post tonight from http://pisspoorinamerica.wordpress.com/. This lady and her current situation made me think of my grandmother. She often talked about her grandparents.
They were farmers and had very little - less than very little. I learned much later in my life that my grandfather worked hard, but often (it seemed from his paperwork trail) borrowed from Peter to pay Paul and was negotiating with Simon on the side...trying hard to keep his family afloat and not lose the baby and the bathwater. The lady from the blog at WordPress discussed hearing her grandmother talk about people so poor they had no pot to piss in and no window to throw the piss out of. Now, that is not necessarily a good word. Although, I do remember my grandparents discussing such as well when I was little.
Memories of my grandmother tonight focused on when I was small. I remember the closets being jammed with items of all types imaginable. In the old house, the closets still are just so. As I have grown older I have often thought of facing the tasks of cleaning out those closets. I have also remembered stories she shared of growing up during the depression. My grandmother was born when the depression started. By today's standards, she would be considered a hoarder. I know now it was a learned and taught way of life to get rid of nothing, as someday someone may need it...someday, you might not have access to getting such items. So, you save, and save, and SAVE.
You reuse everything. You recycle or repurpose. You waste nothing. Ten years ago, I would have laughed at such...I will be the first to admit - I hate clutter. I hate piles - unless it is books...Books are my downfall. They are everywhere in this house and my car and... There can almost never be enough material to read - in my opinion. I jaywalked there for a sec.
Nowadays, we have chickens. I use the eggs to make mayonnaise and cook. The shells are eaten by the chickens and recycled for their food. All food scraps go to the compost or to the chickens. Nothing is ever wasted anymore. Almost nothing is bought that cannot be recycled, reused, or the like. There are more recycled items each week than there is trash. Composting is coming along.
I wonder if someday my grandchildren will consider me to be a hoarder. In other thoughts - I am glad to see parts of her in me. The other day it felt unusual to me that she introduced me with some pride in her voice to her friend as her granddaughter who cans. I am nameless perhaps - but I can!
Memories of my grandmother tonight focused on when I was small. I remember the closets being jammed with items of all types imaginable. In the old house, the closets still are just so. As I have grown older I have often thought of facing the tasks of cleaning out those closets. I have also remembered stories she shared of growing up during the depression. My grandmother was born when the depression started. By today's standards, she would be considered a hoarder. I know now it was a learned and taught way of life to get rid of nothing, as someday someone may need it...someday, you might not have access to getting such items. So, you save, and save, and SAVE.
You reuse everything. You recycle or repurpose. You waste nothing. Ten years ago, I would have laughed at such...I will be the first to admit - I hate clutter. I hate piles - unless it is books...Books are my downfall. They are everywhere in this house and my car and... There can almost never be enough material to read - in my opinion. I jaywalked there for a sec.
Nowadays, we have chickens. I use the eggs to make mayonnaise and cook. The shells are eaten by the chickens and recycled for their food. All food scraps go to the compost or to the chickens. Nothing is ever wasted anymore. Almost nothing is bought that cannot be recycled, reused, or the like. There are more recycled items each week than there is trash. Composting is coming along.
I wonder if someday my grandchildren will consider me to be a hoarder. In other thoughts - I am glad to see parts of her in me. The other day it felt unusual to me that she introduced me with some pride in her voice to her friend as her granddaughter who cans. I am nameless perhaps - but I can!
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