I'm a saver. I keep things. I keep lots of things. Oh - it's not THAT bad. I don't keep broken things. For long. And I don't keep duplicates of things. Most times. And I really don't keep gently used then refolded baby wipes. For reals. But I do keep a lot of things.
I keep a lot of things that mean something to me. Or meant something to someone who means something to me. Or could possibly be used by someone who means something to me. Or even remind me of a time I spent with someone who means something to me.
The unfortunate thing here is that I seem to have a lot of things that remind me of people who mean something to me.
That up there is me on my 15th birthday. I loved that shirt (for reasons now unknown.) I didn't keep it, though. I loved the money. It's gone. I loved the glasses despite the fact that they took up about half the size of my face. They were long ago dropped into the Lions Club glasses donation box. (I hope no poor young soul got saddled with those windshields!)
So I'm not a real hoarder. I can't be. I don't have anything from that picture. But I'd like to.
I'd like to own that couch.
That couch was glorious. Pictures from the late 70's don't do it justice. It was beautiful. It had stripes of gold, blue, and bronze. It was velvet. It was comfy. It was long. It even smelled good.
I remember lying on that couch waiting for my dad to give me a kiss goodbye before he went on some school trip. I remember snuggling up on that couch and eating a small cup of brown sugar while watching Saturday morning cartoons. I remember curling up on that couch with a heating pad almost monthly. And I remember trying to disappear on that couch when my mother told me we were moving away.
That couch was superior in many ways. It was longer than the normal couch. It was softer than the normal couch. And it was classier than the typical couch. It was the couch that all couches wanted to be.
I'd have kept it.
It wasn't mine to keep or throw out, though. Thankfully, I suppose. That weighty decision was made by folks far less hoardy than me. And truthfully it was beginning to show its age. The velvet was not as plush as it once was. The cushions didn't bounce back as much. The arms were beginning to sag. Couch had to go.
I guess I kept the memory. Or memories.
Those are far easier to hoard.
And I do long to be a hoarder after all.....
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