I only say that because she told me to stop calling her a hoarder. When compared to those who are featured on the TV show Hoarders, my own momma's not quite there. Yet. She's pretty darned close though. If she only had a cat and if she only kept the used liter... (Really, I saw that on one of the episodes!)
Consider this: My own momma, who is 72 years old and eats out for almost all of her meals, has a collection of over 500 cook books. She has a sewing machine set up on a sewing table in her now-home office (used to be my sister's bedroom), but you can't see it because she has no less than 90 yards of material stacked on the table. She has four bookshelves and enough books to fill about 12 bookshelves. My own momma is the last person on this planet who has VHS tapes and she has no less than 250 of them - about 100 of them are recorded-from-television episodes of Murder, She Wrote (at least 2 of those are over my high school choir performances!). But, let's be clear on this point: She is NOT a hoarder.
With all that in mind, can you imagine the massive mess that faced her when, last month, her hot water heater decided to no longer contain the water and instead distribute the water all over her bedroom, which had beautiful hard-wood floors.
After school that day, The Daughters and I ran over to my own momma's house to help her clean up until the actual real cleaning people showed up. I ran the shop vac all over her bedroom and closet and bathroom and under her not-hoarded-under bed. The Daughter helped by watching Wizards of Waverly Place and eating from their own plastic-gallon-jug of pretzels that my own momma had bought each of them. Two gallon jugs for two different girls - but, she's not a hoarder.
As I was pulling a box of old Good Housekeeping magazines out from underneath my own momma's bed, I broached the hoarding subject again. "Momma?" I said with great patience and love in my voice, "You gotta stop saving every damned thing."
"I don't save everything," she said all defensive-like, "Plus, I just took a pile of stuff to the thrift store."
"Pile?" I said as I pulled out a bag full of blankets from under her bed I hadn't seen since I entered junior high.
"Pile," she said, "It was one of those white trash bags full."
"Momma," I tried again as I pulled out a box of records. RECORDS. The round vinyl things that spin and make music. "There's no reason for you to keep all these things."
"One day," she sighed as she flipped through the old Jim Neighbors' albums, "I might like to listen to "God Didn't Make Little Green Apples" and I'll have the record right here."
"MOMMA!" I exclaimed as I pulled out a sopping wet box that appeared to be full of newspapers, "You don't have a record player AND you could listen to any of this on the internets." Then I cautiously pulled open the box and began to peel back the newspapers
"I do so have a record player," she countered. "It's in the second bedroom under my old sewing patterns."
As I sat my butt down on the damp and buckling hardwood, I began to unwrap the wet newspapers in the box and gingerly broached the "H" word again. "Momma, I think you might be a hoarder."
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| You won't find cookies in this jar - you'll find other crap, though! |
"Honey," my own momma began in her own defense, "I am not a hoarder. I am a clutter-er - I'll admit to that, but I am not a hoarder." Then she took the smallest goose and placed it on her dresser, after she moved the unmatched socks out of the way, of course. All the socks had colored pom-poms on their heels by the way.
"There's a fine line between hoarding and cluttering," I started.
My own momma interrupted me, "You're absolutely right!"
"Unfortunately," I continued, "We can't see that line because of all the crap you have piled on it!"
Sadly, my momma didn't let me take my own pretzel jar with me when she pushed me out the door...
