So much junk in our homes! Our lives get overly complicated trying to acquire, clean, display, and store all the stuff. How much of it really provides us with enough pleasure to earn its keep?
My theory on how to attack this problem: stay out of stores! Also, toss the ads from the Sunday newspaper (in the recycle bin, of course). These things have a remarkable ability to confuse us about what’s a “want” and what’s a “need.”
Just because a person is done with something doesn’t mean it’s ready for the landfill. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and all that jazz. (Actually, the exception to this is the stuff at my house, where, alas, the vast majority of junk really is just junk.)
“Hey, honey! I found another can in with the regular trash and since you and I are the only ones living here I know it was you who threw it in there. What kind of planet are you leaving for our children?”
Ah, but here’s the problem. Sometimes (translation:often) when I’m volunteering at the Habitat for Humanity Restore (thrift shop) in support of #2 above, I find something that I would really like to have, which flies in the face of #1 above. Mental turmoil ensues.
Yesterday we had a beautiful Persian rug that, due to, ahem, a “screwup”, was sold for $65. One customer (after the fact) said it would retail around $4000. While that may have been an exaggeration, clearly, we should have sold it for more, which would have meant more money to put toward building the houses.
Do I need a rug? No. But if someone had offered me that rug for that price I probably would have taken it. Am I feeling angst that I didn’t get the chance ? I’ll get over it.
But also yesterday we had a little flat cheese grater, maybe six inches by two inches. I thought it was cute, but didn’t dwell on it. Until last night when I was making a tossed salad for my husband and me, and decided to add some cheese. As I was hauling out our big, four-sided grater it occurred to me that the smaller one would have been perfect for the occasion, and much easier to clean up.
Now I’m afraid that every time I get out the big grater I’m going to kick myself for letting that little $1 beauty slip through my fingers.