We’ve all been there. We have decided to do a clean-out. We are knee deep in drawers, closets, and cabinets, and we are feeling weak. Suddenly, something catches our eye. It’s a piece of a vacuum, an old can of paint, an umbrella stand. Suddenly we are overwhelmed by anxiety. Do I keep it or… Continue reading How a Potato Masher Becomes a Nemesis
I remember the day my father produced the brand new red Kirby vacuum. In true Dad fashion, when he would decide to purchase a new rather than used appliance, it had to be among the best, even though he must have known that in our house, it would be only a matter of weeks or maybe months until… Continue reading Dirt Sucking or Life-Sucking?
Consider this statistic: “Self storage – a business devoted to providing people a place to house their extra stuff – has become a 17 billion dollar annual industry in the United States, larger than the motion picture business.” (Daniel Pink, A Whole New Mind) Hmm…do you get the feeling that it’s not just those people on… Continue reading Odysseus Couldn’t Have Resisted a $5.00 Shirt Either
“Whenever you set out to do something, something else must be done first.” -Murphy’s Law As I sit here, I am ten days into my New Year’s Resolutions. They are: Lose 25 pounds (I could deal with 15. Ten would be nice, even). Follow a strict household budget. De-clutter the house and get rid of… Continue reading I am Not My Stuff
My father is a hoarder. Shh! He doesn’t know, but he makes Fred Sanford look like a neat freak. Everyone but my dad knows he is a hoarder, but he prefers "collector," or better yet, "antiques dealer." You might think that this means his house is full from floor to ceiling with boxes, papers, knick-knacks, and… Continue reading Hold the Mustard
I recently found a picture of myself from when I was about six years old. I was standing with my brother on a bulldozer in my uncle’s front yard. It had been there as long as I could remember, which, admittedly was not very long at the time, but as of this writing, 36 years… Continue reading How I Became Addicted to Pants
I guess it would have to be the ice box. That’s what I keep coming back to, anyway. I was eleven years old, and I was sitting in the back of my dad’s van on the shag carpet floor. All around me were boxes filled with various books, antiques and collectibles. He called it “inventory.”… Continue reading Problogue