spring cleaning

I've been having a major "trash attack" at my house.

I have a very large pile of assorted junk, getting ready to take it to Goodwill.

Silly me. I didn't get rid of the pile fast enough. Silly me. I thought I'd keep adding to it. Silly me. I thought if we've not used an item since we moved into this Parsonage 15 months ago, then we probably don't need it.

Now the Pastor has picked through the pile. As soon as I saw him start to pick I knew what was going to happen.

I knew he would start waxing sentimental about those pots. Those two sauce pans. About how his parents bought those for him and that's what he cooked his food in blah blah blah. The two pots that aren't non stick and are old and ugly and have been sitting unused and taking up space in MY kitchen cabinets. Those two pots that we could give away and some homeless person could use.

I thought he wanted to be a minimalist! I thought he liked the idea of things being clean and organized - at least in theory. In practice, he's the tasmanian devil in this house - leaving pants and Birkenstocks and receipts and I Pods and reading glasses and palm pilots in his wake. Then when he next needs said pants and Birkenstocks and receipts and I Pods and reading glasses and palm pilots, naturally I have "hidden" it from him by putting it away. How dare I!

If he wants to journey down memory lane, maybe he should reflect on how he never has to cook for himself anymore. How he never has to eat Sloppy Joes or spaghetti anymore.

i think he'd rather have me than the two WearEver pots. After all, it was Flower Friday yesterday (flowers for me!) and I did get breakfast in bed this morning (a VENTI non-fat sugar-free vanilla Caramel Macchiato. I never buy myself a Venti, except on my birthday). But just in case, I guess I'd better put those pans back in the cabinet. Until next time. Or, until next week. When he goes out of town.

1 comment:

DG said...

Bah! He sounds like my husband, Captain Recovery, who is so named because of his penchant for saving unwanted items from the Trash Gods. I accused my loving husband of being a hoarder and he went beserk, then lectured me on the finer points of being a "pack rat" as opposed to a full-on hoarder. Meh - semantics!

Whatever! We have the same problem, I fear.