Tag Archives: hoarding

Who is this man and what have you done with my husband?

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It’s beginning to feel like Invasion of the Body Snatchers up at Casa River.

There’s a pod here somewhere…. I know it.

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It’s the only possible explanation for why you can currently see the floor… and walls!…. of our garage.

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The look alike alien husband removed the rattle trap archaic blower which was here when we moved in.

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He even *gasp* hung things up. Look, little shelves with neatly coiled tie down straps! Be still my heart.

And then? Excuse me while I reach for my smelling salts… he took his prized 400 lb antique potato planter out of the big barn.

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He loaded it on his truck.

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And gave it to our town’s historical society!

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(I think I may have passed out at this point.)

And just when I was sure my husband had been replaced by an otherworldly facsimile…

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I found him back in the garage knee deep in this.

Delicate apparatus?

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Well, not quite.

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Box full of rusty old tools that haven’t worked since Christ was a Corporal?

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There he is!

Welcome back honey. I missed you…

Treasure is in the eye of the beholder.

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If it’s rusty, weighs 600 lbs and doesn’t work? I guarantee you my husband will love it.

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Like this old cash register he brought home from the dump years ago. No, not the fancy, scroll worked, shiny brass kind from the the turn of the century… the ugly ass, flat black, base metal one they used at gas stations and feed stores in the 40’s and 50’s.

What’s that?

Your husband takes things to the dump? How nice for you.

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Mine brings home broken things other people don’t want.

Does he clean/fix/repurpose them for use… or even as decorative items? No.

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But when they need to be moved, the man painting our barn has to be enlisted to help.

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Heavy?

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Just a bit.

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But after much huffing and puffing it was plunked down on that other ton of fun in the big barn.

Though why the floor didn’t give out from underneath them I’m sure I don’t know.

The rodent revolution can’t be far behind.

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I didn’t pray for this miracle, but I’ll take it.

Day two of the husband cleaning out the garage.

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Things were going well until he hit this corner…

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And found mouse nesting material covering whatever the hell was stored there.

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When he pulled off the filthy blanket?

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Yes. Those are corn cobs.

WTH?

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Sweeping off the pounds of nasty mess revealed this:

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Old, rusty and doesn’t work?

A keeper.

But the sweeping also revealed this:

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A tiny, squeaking baby mouse.

And when there’s a tiny, squeaking baby mouse?

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There’s a crazed mother mouse searching for it close behind.

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We spent the next half hour reuniting the little bastards, but the damage was done.

Their home had been destroyed…. like the chipmunks in the baby barn and the red squirrels in the house eaves.

Three rodent families displaced in the course of a summer.

I fear for our safety this winter.

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The miracle continues…

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Out of nowhere the husband decided to clean the garage.

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And there was lots to sort through and clean believe me.

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Did I crochet that?

I once superglued the straps of my bathing suit together, so… no.

Like hundreds of other items that show up in our out buildings, I have no clue how it came to be there. But the point is, the husband was willing to get rid of some things and that had to be celebrated.

Applauded.

And crowed about on a blog.

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Okay, so he wasn’t willing to part with everything. This was old, rusted and didn’t work.

In other words, a keeper!

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Halfway though the day he stumbled on that motorcycle dolly he just had to have. You know the one… I bought it for his birthday 10 years ago, almost broke my back getting it into the house and wrapped? The one he not only didn’t use, but never even opened?

Yeah, that one.

Problem was it had been stuck in the back of the garage for all that time and a mouse family had moved in. So when he picked it up?

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The bottom of the box gave way.

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And pounds of mouse shavings, clippings and poo fell out.

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But one side of the building revealed it did indeed have a (seriously cracked) floor and the truck was filling up for a dump run.

Cue the brass band.

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Naturally if I put anything in there, it had to be gone over with a fine tooth comb. Which by the way, I found three of.

None with a full set of teeth.

Good times.

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So maybe it wasn’t quite the miracle I thought.

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The other day I blogged about the miracle of finding my husband getting rid of things in the big barn.

I was happy!

I was thrilled!

Heck, I was downright orgasmic.

Until I walked upstairs.

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A lot of the things I thought he’d gotten rid of…

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Had just migrated upward instead. So with determination in my step I went back down to help him sort through things to throw away.

It did not go well.

Here are a few of the items he couldn’t bear to part with.

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No, you’re not seeing double. That’s a flippable measuring cup… though why on earth you’d need to flip one I don’t know.

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Blank dog tags.

A box of them.

Why? Unless he’s planning to outfit a woodchuck army…. I don’t see the point.

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A rock.

And while I’m normally all about the rocks, I do prefer mine outside…. or slowly cooling my gin and tonic.

Finally there was this:

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He wouldn’t part with it, even though he didn’t know where he’d gotten it or what the hell it was.

So let me resurrect that old blog series I used to torture you with..

Name That Crap!

What is it?

( And yes, I did research so I know the answer. )

It’s a miracle!

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Somewhere …. pigs are flying. I know this because I went out to the big barn and saw something I never thought I’d see.

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My husband sorting through and …. are you sitting down?… actually throwing things out!

It’s true. And I might have wept with joy. (After an orgasm. Or two. )

Not only did he throw things out….

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He chopped some up and cut them into little pieces.

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Okay he did it with a saw that was on the floor because the tables were covered in crap… but still!

The old rotten shelf with the 40 degree lean that was filled with useless stuff? Gone!

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Whatever this was?

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It and all it’s relatives… gone!

I couldn’t figure out why this was happening, but it’s like extended happy hour at your favorite bar…. you don’t ask why. You just drink till you pass out.

And then I noticed where all of these things were going.

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In piles alongside the deck.

One minute there was a rusty folding camp bed and broken sewing machine table…. the next minute? They were gone.

I assumed the husband was loading up his truck for a dump run, but no.

It turns out the man who we hired to paint our barn wanted it.

All of it.

And was filling up the back of his truck.

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Pardon the terrible through the screen photo but I was so happy to see the crap leave our property I had to.

So miracles do happen, and the best miracle of all?

We’d hired a fellow hoarder! And I realized the husband wasn’t throwing out his treasure…. he was gifting it.

Why in the world didn’t I think of this sooner?

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Just call me Scarlett.

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Scarlett O’Hara was quite a broad.

Selfish? Yes. Manipulative? Most assuredly. But lately, I’ve seen shades of myself in her most famous quote:

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Never again.

Yes dear readers, I have vowed that a fall resurgence of the world wide pandemic will not catch me unaware again.

It’s true.

I have become that which I despise.

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There are 16 boxes of tissues in my spare bathroom closet.

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And yes….

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There are 23 rolls of paper towels and 22 rolls of toilet paper in my spare bathroom tub.

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So bring it Covid 19 hoarding shoppers! Clear the store shelves of bathroom paper supplies at your first October sniffle.

River Scarlett is ready.

She will never wipe her butt with sandpaper again!

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Another round if you please.

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Sadly I’m not talking about my kind of round… the one that involves limes and tequila.

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The insulation, ceiling and lights were finished in the big barn project. And silly me…. I thought that meant we were done.

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But upon further deliberation, the husband decided he want to put quarter round moulding all around the top of the walls for a more finished look.

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And while I’m never one to argue with finish work…

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With the husband, things don’t always go as planned.

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Yes, he’s holding  a bottle of glue.

And no, you don’t want to know why.

He even put moulding on top of the steel beam.

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And got me up on the ladder to hold it in place, which wasn’t exactly where it should have been.

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The 327lb prized antique potato planter was moved a few hundred times, because, you know… they’re never where you want them.

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Do we plant potatoes?   No. We never have, and never will.

Enough said.

And while we’re at the porch door…

Kindly look up.

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There… see it?

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That.

A section of plywood ceiling that clearly has writing on it.

Why?

Because the husband says he didn’t notice it and refuses to undo everything to flip it over.

Finish work does not always look finished around here.

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Shedding a little light.

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Husband was out working in the barn the other day before I realized it, and we know that doesn’t often bode well.

He was putting up the other 3 light fixtures and had cleared some space.

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Look! Floor.

I rarely see it,  so excuse me if I get a little excited.

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Since he planned on being there a while, the stereo had to be turned on. I believe there used to be a remote for that unit, but I have to say….  I’m glad he lost it.  Powering up via antique fishing rod and reel is so much more amusing.

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And did you see these?

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Look closely.

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Those are the two circles I wanted to label  Bang Head Here…. but someone wouldn’t let me.

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Not enjoying my sense of humor… the husband banished me to the house to make lunch and by the time I came back he was on the last light fixture.

Which was unfortunate.

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Because as you can see…. (while the husband turns the radio off)

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His alignment left a lot to be desired.

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