Confessions of a Self Proclaimed Pack Rat
I’ve been writing since I was young… the discovery and reading of my diary lead me to go underground. I took to writing on pieces of paper, there was this innate desire to document things… I found some papers that I as a sixth grader had used in a diary fashion – you just can’t throw all those little pieces of paper away! LOL
I am a self-proclaimed recovering ‘Pack Rat’. I am currently cleaning out boxes in our garage (formerly known by me as my storage unit).
My husband has gotten it into his head that we are supposed to park our vehicles in the garage…he has even gone so far as to have a fancy new garage door installed; complete with a remote control. The nerve!
We haven’t parked a car in the garage for close to thirty years. In our last home we converted the garage into a den. When we moved into this house fourteen years ago; we stacked boxes in the garage so we could go through them in our leisure…I have been VERY leisure about going through my boxes.
My husband has built a shed and created store-able space in our attic over the garage. My reaction? Great, more space! Then he started the unthinkable! He started throwing some of his stuff away… all the while saying things like “I told you this day was coming”. “Gad-zoocks”
He actually wants me to part with some of my prized Stuff!! You know things like fabric, books, nick-knacks, craft supplies, toys, news paper articles, fabric, souvenirs, stuff from when our children were in school, two cabinet sewing machines (one belonged to my great grand mother), did I say fabric…
Well let me stop lamenting. The time is here; who knows I might even enjoy coming up the driveway, pushing a button and pulling into a clean garage… only time will tell. 🙂
Seeing how he has his mind-set on this, and to think we’ve got all that room in the front yard; not to mention the long driveway in which to park our vehicles… but I digress.
I will reduce, recycle, and donate my way to a ‘clean side’ of my used to be ‘storage haven’.
Pray for me ;->
I would like to add (I’ll call it a poem) something that has been tucked away in my paper work.
Being of a sweet and generous nature, it has always been my desire to spare my husband as much trauma as possible. I have, therefore, never consulted with him about the fabric I buy. I feel that he should be grateful that I am a fabricholic instead of an alcoholic and be willing to indulge my small passion as long as he isn’t aware of the actual expenditure represented by my growing horde.
One day recently, however, I was struck by the realization that I COULD DIE, AND WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO MY FABRIC? My children are old enough to take care of themselves, but my fabric is helpless.
I buy fabric for the sheer pleasure of owning it. It is stashed in every available drawer, on shelves, in boxes, on the end of the cutting table, greatly reducing its use, and under the bed, until we are in danger of having to use a ladder to get onto the mattress.
It rests, carefully folded, labeled, wrapped in clear plastic so that the color and texture are clearly visible. I unwrap a piece occasionally, hold it up to the light, enjoy the hand, visualize how it might look made up, measure it again to ascertain that it has not diminished, then I carefully refold, place it in the plastic and return it to its storage place. I rarely find a pattern worthy of my prizes, so that when I really want to make up something to wear, I have to go out and buy fabric into which I can bear to cut.
The confirmed fabricholic really doesn’t want to make clothes from her treasures, she just enjoys having them. The true connoisseur collects only natural fibers. Synthetics do not tempt the heart of the purest. They are changing so fast that whatever you buy this year will be old hat next year…
Not so with natural fibers. Good silks, woolens, cottons, and linens become more rare and costly.
Becoming a grandmother shocked me into admitting that I am not immortal and will eventually leave this vale of needles and pins. I will have to leave my store behind, although I am certain that if the angels saw my fabric they would find a way for me to bring it along to stitch up into Heavenly Robes.
I began to feel like a miser with coins stashed in the mattress. Someone would have to be told about it. I waited until my husband was peacefully engaged in his favorite pastime, watering the garden, and broached the subject….
From Collector’s Quilts & Fabrics’ Newsletter, Author unknown
I wonder was this self fulfilling 🙂