Am I Getting Eccentric or Was I Always...

I'm Going to (try) to Tear a Page Out of Sherry and Sue's Books (Seems I can always cause confusion. The page I was taking out of Sherry and Sue's books was subtitling to make my blog easier to read. Had nothing to do with the subject matter in the blog.)

Yesterday was a busy day that I'm paying for, today. I had to empty the armoire so that it could be moved off to the side to be picked up on the weekend. The new TV and stand are coming on Thursday. Make way for progress? As I empty the cabinet, I wonder how I have collected all these treasures over the years. In my usual disorganized state, I look at the little jars, baskets, candlesticks, picture frames, doo-dads etc., and muse about each one and remember where or who they came from and what I was thinking at the time, and yes I love them. I also hate them. A job that should take 20 minutes takes hours and isn't done. I realize why I was so content living in my little trailer with no possessions other than necessities. It uncluttered my mind, yet kept my "other man's trash" safe. And, most importantly, the memories will always be mine and are stored for me to enjoy them for the rest of my life.

I Really Am Not a Hoarder...Just Sentimental

There's the basket that my middle son bought me when he was about 9 years old. So cute that he thought to buy me "furniture" as he called it. He's in the midst of moving himself and his daughters to a new home and stops in to say hello. He asks if I "got rid of" the armoire. Inside, I recoil (but I have already thought about what we were talking about when we bought it and console myself that it's going to a young girl that really likes it) so it's okay. I recount how I love the basket and I want him to have it in his new home. He humors me and says, "Oh, that would be nice, Mom. Thank you." He leaves. It's sitting on the coffee table. Oh, my. Look at the dust! At least he knows the story.

There is what at first glance looks like a squirrels nest in a small pewter pitcher. Forty years ago the young girl took it to a flower shop and had a beautiful dry flower arrangement put in it. Yesterday, the old lady put it in a bin. She took it out, today, and is going to throw the 40 year old dried flowers away. She is, but first she needs to think about the little shop and how pretty she thought it was when she picked it up and how pretty it looked on their coffee table, and how Rich smiled and told her that he liked it. She feels sad that the flowers will be thrown in the garbage so she decides she will set them free in the back yard. She knows that's the right thing to do. Maybe a bird can use some of it for its nest.

There's a candle stick made out of a spool that my good friend, Martha, gave me many years ago. I remember the day and how thoughtful she was to think of me. My kids will most likely wonder what it is, someday, so I write a note on the bottom. The dove I've had for many years--it looked so sad at the garage sale. I will keep that. Two more baskets from my Mother that I love already have a special place in another part of the house.

I went to Walmart and picked up a couple of bins to store the "treasures" to put them in my "attic" room upstairs, made a pile for throw away, and a little pile to keep with the new TV (DVDs and such). I did a little at a time with the old red clock that my Mother gave me and a few things still up there.

I have to get a chair to get them, today. Why is everything so difficult these days? There's a small vase that she also gave me. I dream (to myself) that I will take that to the Antique Road Show along with the baskets and clock someday. My back and shoulders hurt--they have been tested. I can't move in a room that was neat, yesterday. What happened? Jack thought he was lost behind a bin and I had to go get him. Is this progress? My sweet Jack. He doesn't think I'm peculiar. He just moves from place to place, staying at my feet.

No, I Don't Need a Flue Shot, I Just Got One

While out getting the bins, I need to pick up a prescription at the drugstore. The pleasant young pharmacist, Brian, asks, "Do you want to get your flu shot, today."

I reply, "Oh, no thanks, I just got one." He looks at me with a quizzical look on his face (and a smile) and asks, "Who gave it to you?" I answer that it was the other pharmacist, Thomas. He's looking at his computer and he says, "That was last October." I thought he was kidding. Where did the time go? Well, I don't have a shirt where the sleeve will roll up far enough so I tell him I'm going to find a corner and slip my arm out of my shirt and hope that he will vouch for me if I'm arrested for indecent exposure. He laughs--he's so pleasant. I manage to do a nice job of covering what needs to be covered and I'm ready for the shot. It's a high dose flu shot. Fluzone It seems that my advanced age gives me yet another benefit-a special old person's vaccine. ::scowl:: He gives a good shot, so it didn't hurt, but he says my arm might ache for a few days. Well, my arm does ache this morning, but it's my other arm. I have a list of side effects in my purse that I haven't read--that will prevent any of them.

I Start to Wonder if I'm Getting Strange

Well, I have to make the room neat, so I'll quit stalling and get busy. I think if I could stand for longer periods of time, I would go through the house and think about all the things that I need to put in the past...but first I must think about them and what each means to me and savor the memories. Then, let them go. Let them go to wherever they are supposed to be.

Jack Becomes Bored But Eccentric is Okay With Him