Tag Archives: hoarding

Oh, good grief.

 

Try as I might to avoid it, sometimes I have to go upstairs in our barn.

This usually forces me to emit a heavy sigh over the husband’s new acquisitions.

You know,  the ones he snuck in there without me noticing.

 

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While I was pleasantly surprised to see he’d done a little organizing (read – shoved everything to the sides) and the floor was visible this time….

 

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And also delighted to see a small section of crap had been put on a shelf.

A shelf!

 

 

(What? You don’t collect dusty old water stained cardboard boxes half full of rusty rivets and tacks…

Why ever not?)

A groan did escape me when I saw more bed frames….

 

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And old rusty pesticide sprayers…

 

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As well as whatever the hell this is in front of the vintage cabbage slicers.

 

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I’m thinking I should make him use that in the baby barn to level out the dirt floor.

You know, as penance for bringing the damn thing home in the first place.

 

 

I  wish I knew.

And if you’re thinking to yourself, geesh River, that didn’t look so bad…. let me point your eye downstairs where it looks like this:

 

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And this:

 

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And this:

 

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Enough said.

 

 

The baby nightmare continues…

 

Baby barns.

Totally not worth the trouble.

 

 

 

When last we left our intrepid deconstructor, he had finished the back side of the main building and was moving around to the side.

 

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Please note that his loyal wife and help mate was not thrilled to see a large pile of dirt growing ever larger on her lawn.

 

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Problem #1 this past weekend?  The husband had so much  junk, crap, useless rusted nonsense   treasure stored in that section, he had no room to work.

Of course, he assured me it was all wonderful stuff.

 

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I assured him it was not.

 

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What? Why? How much….

 

 

I didn’t even want to know.

 

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Yes…. that’s a filthy old door with a mail slot that weighs roughly 5,000 pounds.

No… I have no idea why he has it.

 

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But if you need 2 rusted iron frames for your wooden wagon wheels?  He’s your man.

Although on second thought, he never parts with anything… ever. So I guess you’re out of luck.

You might have noticed this jewel in the previous photo…

 

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I think it’s an ancient torture device from the early 14th century.

I know it damn near broke my back dragging it across the lawn to the big barn where it will now gather more cobwebs.

It’s days like these that I have to keep telling myself…

 

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I really do.

Because otherwise? I’d kill him…

And I don’t think they’d let me blog from prison.

 

 

 

 

 

I knew it was going to be a banner day.

 

When I woke up to this…

 

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A big old rainbow in our backyard.. almost a double.

 

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And if that wasn’t beautiful enough?

Later in the day, this happened….

 

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My husband…. who never throws anything out?

Loaded up his truck and went to the dump!

 

 

He cleaned out the giant stack of empty boxes and some of the crap that’s been clogging our garage for years.

We went from this…

 

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To this…

 

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Walls.

I can see the walls!

And he even got rid of that old sink he brought home from God knows where.

 

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Of course now I can see the vintage cash register and faded bed frame that I had no idea he’d snuck in as well.

But hey…

Even miracles only go so far.

 

Things I don’t like today.

 

A switch from my regular happy to be alive posts.

 

 

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I don’t like….

Being bitten on the hand by a horse fly while mowing the lawn and having it swell up to 5 times it’s normal size.

 

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Hot, stiff and throbbing.

And not in a good way.

 

 

I don’t like….

Being bitten on the ankle by a horse fly the next day and having it swell up to epic proportions as well.

WTH?

 

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Did one of you clowns stick a Bite Me sign on my back…

 

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I don’t like….

Being late to lunch with friends because I lost the husband to yet another junk filled yard sale he just couldn’t drive by.

 

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He came back with a bag… and I didn’t even want to know what was in it.

 

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I don’t like….

The fact that the husband owns a chain saw.

 

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This birch tree had one bad section… one.

So bye bye entire tree.

 

 

Nothing is safe. Except the two dead flowering plum trees I’ve been after him to cut for years. Those?

He leaves alone.

I don’t like….

 

 

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Going out to check on the baby catbird nest and finding momma’s feathers on the ground…

 

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And an empty nest knocked loose from the bush.

Poor little things.

I don’t like….

Things that come in threes. First our  too new to die damn it  refrigerator, then my car’s air conditioner, and now the husband’s truck’s air conditioner. There’s a conspiracy afoot to make me sweat.

 

 

I really, really don’t like that!

 

 

 

Please throw that away….

 

My husband is a hoarder.

He collects. He acquires.

He’s never met an empty space he didn’t immediately want to fill.

And he saves everything.

 

 

I’ve learned over the years that if I let him have certain sections of our home… the garage, the shed, the barn, the cellar and a closet….. I can just close the doors and pretend they’re not filled with crap.

 

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He’s a good man, and a wonderful husband. Lord knows there are worse things to deal with than too much stuff .

Of course I also have to clear paths now and then… a la the Collyer Brothers.

It took the police 5 hours to find his body.

 

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When it starts to drive me nuts?

I tell myself it’s just a quirk of his personality and I love him anyway. Sometimes I have to say that twice.

But the other day I realized he’s been stuffing my file drawers full of old, unwanted documents for years.. and that won’t be tolerated.

 

 

Leave and earnings statements from 1986? Check!

Insurance bills from 2001? Why not.

Water purity test results from 2007? Yup.

A Groupon for a restaurant that went out of business 7 years ago? Of course.

His late mother’s newspaper delivery renewal form? Sure.

Doctors instructions for a colonoscopy prep in 1999? Oh, yeah.

Why does he want these things?

I have no earthly idea, but they sure pile up.

 

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( Yes, that’s a stash of alcohol in my office.

Don’t judge, the liquor cabinet is full. )

 

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So I shredded. And shredded. And shredded some more.

I shredded so long and so much….

The shredder was literally smoking.

Which could have gone very wrong…. very quickly.

 

 

3 hours of sorting and shredding and almost catching the house on fire later, it was done.

And you know what that means?

Tomorrow he’s going to ask me for that Security Awareness Virtual Initiative Course completion certificate from 2003.

I just know it.

 

 

 

This literally makes me twitch.

 

A few years ago my husband built a barn.

It’s a lovely barn….

 

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Complete with a farmer’s porch for me and my late afternoon book.

Or margarita.

(Who are we kidding?

I don’t always bring the book.)

 

 

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He’d never built anything before and aside from a few minor boo boos, it turned out very well.

The first floor was meant to house the riding lawn mower, 2 motorcycles, 3  push mowers, 2 weed wackers, a snow blower and other assorted tools.

That was why we built it. Because our old barn/shed is falling apart and we have no where else to put all those things.

 

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See?

When I say falling apart… I mean literally falling.

Needless to say the barn did not go up quickly. It was worked on nights and weekends…. and from the first footer to now?

 

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7 years.

And it’s still not really finished.

Last weekend the husband was back at it, putting up interior walls.

 

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Of course there’s a problem with the construction taking that long.

It gave the husband time to fill the barn with crap.

So much crap that not only is there no room for the lawn mowers and motorcycles…

There’s now barely enough room for him to put up walls.

 

 

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And that literally makes me twitch.

 

 

Why do you see an office chair, a microwave, a water cooler, a wagon wheel, a fold up bed, 2 metal wheelchair ramps, a driftwood tree and a card table in there?

Because someone was throwing them away….

And they were free.

 

 

Not pictured are 3 front doors, 2 locked safes without combinations, a potato planter, an 8 track tape player and a scale for weighing bags of grain.

Will he be planting potatoes or weighing grain bags while listening g to 8 track tapes?

No.

Will he be replacing our front door?

Hell no.

But apparently knowing he could is enough.

 

The purge continues…

 

 

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No, not that kind.

Although now that I think about it….

 

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Maybe one night would be alright.

No…

I’m talking about my  damn it, the shelves are about to break  walk in closet clothing purge.

Last week I sorted through 107 pairs of jeans and capris.

This week? I attacked the shirts.

 

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Should I tell you there were 133 stacked there…. and that’s not counting what was hanging or hiding in 3 large bureaus?

No… I don’t think I will.

 

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Purging is work.

And time consuming.

Not to mention depressing as hell when you realize how many items you actually can’t fit into anymore.

 

 

(If you’ve never done this, and have no idea what I’m talking about?

You’re too thin…. and I don’t think we can be friends.)

What to keep?

What to discard?

 

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I purged.

 

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And have 4 more bags to donate to Salvation Army.

Yes, I hated to give up the Sometimes I Amaze Myself tee shirt… because damn it, sometimes I do!

But you have to be ruthless when you purge.

Before – 133.

 

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After –  47.

 

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Ruthless.

I was ruthless I tell you.

 

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Apparently just like the sadistic bananas at your local grocer’s.