Remember this prompt, when your home was on fire and you got to save five items? That means you left a lot of stuff behind. What are the things you wish you could have taken, but had to leave behind?
Sigh. Now I’m really bored.
I don’t know, and at this point I don’t care. I suppose picture albums. I’m old, so lots of our photos are still the old school variety.
Honestly, I can’t think of anything valuable enough to risk my life for,and it can all be replaced. Sometimes I think it would be a good thing if I somehow lost all my possessions. Wouldn’t have to leave a mess for my kids to clear up; wouldn’t have to decided what to do with stuff I seldom use.
When I do marital counseling, often one of the biggest issues between the two people is that one of them is a hoarder, to some degree, and the other is an OCD-style neatnik. Finding some way to help them compromise is quite a challenge. We are a nation of stuff-keepers, and we become very protective when our stuff is threatened. It’s all stuff we need! Someday it might come in handy, and then you’ll feel bad for griping about it.
I can especially empathize with wives who are married to men who are good with their hands. These guys don’t throw away a single nut, bold, screw, nail, or piece of wire. Everything has value. Aluminum foil? Collect it, keep it in big buckets until you have enough to take wherever you take such stuff and get money for it. Same with copper. Oh my word, copper! Thing is, it’s never enough. You wait until you have just a little bit more, to make the trip worthwhile.
Bins of all different sized washers, mayo jars full of little doodads screwed to their lids that have been nailed to a beam in the basement. Workshop area filled with paint and all sorts of other strong-smelling chemicals that you just can’t toss because, you know, handy some day. Cleaning chemicals. Paint-stripping chemicals. Gunk-removing chemicals. Thinners, thickeners, strippers, cementers, glue and solvents.
It’s amazing, really.
And we won’t even talk about tools.
“Would you get my my blue-handled flat-blade screwdriver from the tool chest in the basement? I can’t let go of this right now.”
Sure. So down she goes to the basement, scarey place. “Which tool chest?” she hollers up the stairs.
“The one with the red ballpeen hammer on the top. Hurry up!”
“What’s a ballpeen hammer?”
(This is a ball peen hammer. You’ll thank me later.)
“Oh good grief! Never mind, I’ll get it myself.”
And the ensuing muttermumble down the basement stairs, accompanied by an unfriendly sideways glare, lets you know you’ve failed in an important part of your duty as a helpmeet. But that’s ok, because he never knows which drawer the vegetable peeler is in, even though you’ve been putting it in the same place for 20 years.
How did I get here? I don’t know. I just know I didn’t want to talk about what I didn’t take out of yesterday’s burning house that I should have, and now I’m done.