A Lighter View
Things we keep
By K.E.H. Stagg

January 20 , 2011

_____This week I got to thinking about the things we keep. I’m not talking about mementos or collectibles, I’m talking about stuff we just don’t throw away.
_____Kleenex, for example. How many of us have partially used tissues in our purses, cars, or desk drawers. And we’re saving them. . . why? It’s not like I’m going to paste it in my scrapbook, or tell a friend, “Here, take mine! It’s hardly been used.” Ick.
And yet, they don’t ever seem make it to the trash can or recycling bin. I’ve got rubber bands so old, they’ve turned crispy and crumbled to bits. _____There are pieces of gum from the first Bush administration, with lint, hairballs, and Lord knows what else stuck to them where they’re spilling out of their wrappers. Do I really think I will eventually be unable to afford a fresh pack, and will have to chew that nasty old thing—with all its attachments—for nutrition?
_____I often say, “At least I’m not like Grandma!” We all have some relative (like my grandma) who lived through the Depression and re-used tin foil, plastic baggies, and wrapping paper for their entire lives. Grandma used one squirt of detergent for an entire kitchenful of dishes, and never threw away any box she ever got. In comparison to her, I’m a wanton spendthrift, counting to three before easing up on the dish soap and recycling cardboard boxes on a regular basis.
_____I’ve managed to convince myself that I don’t need half-burned candles; that dried-up pens can be pitched; and that even if I lived several lifetimes, I will never again need—or want—a rubber swim cap with chin strap. So why I can’t I throw out those little metal twist-ties? Why are my desk drawers cluttered with leftover paper clips and pencils whose lead has run out? Why am I compelled to save the half-sheets of paper that are bare of writing? It probably costs more to hoard this stuff than to start out fresh, but I don’t think my hand gets anywhere near a wastebasket!
_____Each time I participate in a yard sale, I manage to ease my grip on useless items like the sponge rollers and funky hairnets that kept them attached to my head every Saturday night about a thousand years ago when I actually used the rollers. I’ve jettisoned the single place setting that got me through college, and finally even gave away the steamer trunk I stored my dorm linens in.
_____Whether I’ll ever get rid of the rest of the junk is another question. Need an old old typewriter eraser with a plastic whisk attached at the top to brush off the erased paper? I’ve got it! Need a little plastic magnifying glass to see all the details on a thumb tack? _____Got it! Want an empty sample perfume bottle Got it! Need a plastic-coated clip for pinning nylons on a plastic clothesline while traveling? Got that, too! Ditto for a pair of suede hot pants, five non-working watch faces, and a clay cockroach that looks one-hundred-percent real (minus part of one wing where the practical joke victim threw it against a wall).
I would seriously consider group therapy, but in talking to friends, I find out there’s lots of other stuff I could keep but don’t. I mean, you might actually want to reuse a fake cockroach at some point, but what possible future use could anyone have for silly little action figures?!