Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Packrats



Dad's "Office," where he displays his own unique way to manage utter chaos.
I spent the weekend at my parents' house. I hadn't visited them since Christmas. Each time I go home, I am flabbergasted at how much stuff keeps piling up in that house. They've been there since 1974, so it's to be expected that stuff would accumulate. But they don't throw ANYTHING away.

For example, when I was home for Christmas, my dad was going through boxes that were pulled from the attic to make room for a renovation. He comes downstairs with this pink taffeta prom dress I wore in 10th grade, as well as a black New Romantic-style jacket (same one Nick Rhodes is wearing on the cover of the second issue of Duran Duran's first album). Both are covered in mildew stains and God-knows-what-else....rat crap? Insulation?



Our three-stall barn, complete with hayloft, which used to board horses and now boards groundhogs and family relics.




Dad marches into the den holding the items up and says with a smile, "Look what I found in the basment? Do you want it?" I said, "Goodness no. They're out of style, stained, and I couldn't fit an ankle into them, much less my butt. Why would I want them?" He said, "I thought you might want them for the memories. I'll set them aside for a yard sale or for Goodwill." Ummm...what on earth makes him think anyone would pay money to have these items? I told him to throw them away, but the next day, I saw them tossed into a box in the basement.



The hallway in the "Hannibal Lector" basement


That's my Dad for you. Classic Depression era. He can't throw anything away, but he spends copious amounts of time moving it around from room to room in futile hope that the piles of junk will will somehow get smaller and more manageable. Every time I go home it's a true trip down memory lane. I'll find a coat I wore when I was six years old, back issues of Bop magazine with Duran Duran or on the cover or Fangoria magazine, pillowcases full of old notes I passed in class...it's always fun to navigate my memories when I go home, but the sheer volume of stuff in their house makes me claustrophobic and makes me wonder if my parents have that "pack-rat" disorder that's been making news lately.

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