June 14, 2003
If you know me at all, you know that I am a packrat. At least that is what everyone calls me. I find the term a little offensive personally. However, if that's what I am, at this age I should simply accept it.

I can tell that my friends and family think I am a packrat because of the knowing looks that pass among them as they enter my home. I live in a small duplex and own enough stuff to furnish a 4000 sq. foot home and that doesn't include the stuff that I have stored in our storage unit. I will never live in the suburban style, sterile homes where there is enough storage for everything and the house practically self-cleans. It's not my style.

I come by this quite honestly. My father was worse than I ever will be. Once when we were planning a move, mom was cleaning out the house and putting stuff to be taken to the dump in a trailer. Before Dad hauled it away, he started sorting through things and pulling them out. That process simply infuriated her.

Dad is still quite proud of his collection of saved items. I called him a few weeks ago for some family pictures and he has them all packed into a crawlspace, boxes fully labeled and corresponding identification paperwork in his office. He was telling me how he was able to go out to the garage, open his antique lead-lined bank safety-deposit boxes (from a bank that has long since been torn down) and find a bolt that he needed for a project. He didn't need to go to the hardware store and buy one, because he saves every bolt that is ever pulled out of anything that he comes into contact with.

I remember getting loads of lumber from torn-down homes and having to pull nails from them. I would then sort the nails according to their state of decay and then by size and style. Many we would toss out because they were wrecked, but those that were saved, were further identified and then put into baby-food jars with one taped to the outside to be able to be used at a later date.

I seem to save every item that is ever given to me as a gift. They mean something to me! And when I do try to get rid of them - it seems that the world stops me. Last fall I wanted to donate my Christmas Village to a small assisted living center that would have loved to have it. My sister (who is always encouraging me to purge my house) was the first person to stop me from giving that stuff away, because someday, someone in my family might want some of those things. Yikes! Then, last week as I tried to donate a collection of Time-Life books on Ancient Civilizations to a church, I was told they didn't really need them. Again - Yikes! I can't even give this stuff away.

My library is awesome! Everytime I get interested in something new, I buy a book and read it. Ok - that's not entirely true. I don't simply buy one book - I buy several. And my interests change on a regular basis. When I first started creating this website, I needed to learn how to use Dreamweaver. I walked into Borders, found the web programming area and was completely awed by the amount of books that could be purchased simply on Dreamweaver. I was proud of myself when I walked out with only 3 of them.

But, that explains the immense library that I have. Are you curious about anything? I probably have a book you can read about the subject. The worst thing is that my husband has completely different interests and reads as avidly as I do. I can feel the house sinking into the ground as I type.

This is another vice that I will blame on my father. When we moved, he would be allotted a certain weight that the conference would pay for. His books alone would have filled that weight limit (I exaggerate, but only a little). We used to move the books ourselves by van loads. I hated carrying boxes of books. And when he retired, he shared many of those books with me. Again, there are more boxes of books down in my storage unit. I need a needy library to come to my house and take out what they want.

I will admit immediately to collecting and saving too many things. At the same time, I have one of my mother's best traits. When someone would come into her home and admire something that mom owned, that item would generally find it's way home with the guest. I am thrilled to be able to share the things I have with others. So, if I ever allow you to come into my home (that means I trust that you won't make comments about my stuff) and you admire something out loud - you need to graciously accept it as my gift to you!