The Critic Becomes the Hoarder

So all summer there's this (really ugly -- I saved you from having to look at the awful appliqued geese/ducks? by the the angle I used to take the picture. Just a shuddering horrific experience to imagine the provincial country kitchen intended for this...) basket filled with blue glass sitting in the corner of the dining room at my Mom's house. I'm a little offended she hasn't offered it to me, my being the blue glass collector and all. I'm getting into a bit of an invisible snit over it so one day I stop by and she's not home so I just take the basket thinking it'll be years before she looks for it, if ever. This blue glass will look lovely all lined up above the kitchen cupboards in my new place. (Inside my skull I'm reminding myself that my Mom started out this way, just collecting a few little things placed nicely above the cupboards. The rational brain is yelling "Don't go there, don't go there," while the reptilian brain is calmly rationalizing "It's just a few blue pieces of glass, they will look just lovely in your new house!")

Check out the stash:

So, as you see, I line them all up and am very excited. Especially about the bottles and the four drinking glasses because the drinking glasses are gorgeously designed and the bottles are just so cool -- there are some obvious Vicks and Bromo bottles. (Aside: I have a tiny Vicks jar I've been using as a toothpick holder for years! What other uses can be imagined for the bigger Vicks jars?! Toothbrush holders! Tea Bag dispensers! Chop Stick holders!). The four vases are more common and also are mold made and have vertical creases up their sides -- probably they aren't worth as much because of that. (This whole last paragraph is the rational thinking of the reptilian hoarder mind, especially the bit about the Vicks jars.)

So, about a week later I go to my Mom's house and am stopped suddenly in my tracks when I realize something.

The right window is full of blue glass but the left window isn't. It is entirely unlike the hoarder to have unmatched front windows (though, disconcertingly, the curtains are unmatched because the room on the left is a bedroom while the room on the right is the living room.)

Right Window:

Left Window:

Obviously, the blue glass was supposed to be in the left window  but was removed over the summer to let in fresh air (notice the metal tubing used to hold up the window). But so annoying that the hoarder would match window knick knacks but not curtains. What was she thinking! (Really, I'm just mad because now I know I'll be discovered and have to give all the blue glass back.)

Shopping in Pat's Basement

Let me tell you about my favorite store, Pat's Basement. I have been "shopping" in Pat's Basement (and garage) for many many years. I brought many friends down there in my college days to get things like dishes and glassware, chairs and linens.

My favorite coffee pot, a glass pyrex percolator, was found in Pat's Basement.

When I got divorced, I just gave the dinnerware set to my ex, knowing I'd go find something in Pat's Basement. There's nothing like starting over with a fresh set of "new to me" dishes, especially collectible 1940's Franciscan stoneware.

I also have always loved blue glass and built an entire collection of 1920s and 1930s blue cobalt glassware from Pat's "finds." Pat has taken it upon herself to always be searching for more blue glass for me.

Just a few of my 1920's cobalt blue glasses.

I own an almost complete "Wedding Band" set. In the 1930's these were given away as promotional items to get people to come out to the movie theaters. You can tell they are from the depression-era because less cobalt was used to make the glass blue, hence the lighter color. In general, dark cobalt blue glass is from the 1920's, before the depression.

Extremely rare "Harpo" pitcher. Also a movie theater giveaway, named after Harpo Marx. There was a different design made and named after each Marx brother. I saw this same pitcher at an antique show priced at $450. Pat got this for $35 along with six matching glasses at a consignment shop.

In the heart of every hoarder is a "collector," someone who is searching for that collectible item that's worth far more than the fifty cents paid at the tag sale. Where it all goes wrong is when the collector can't stop collecting and begins to buy more and more stuff without discrimination. Somewhere in that brain of theirs is a switch that flips and the neurons are begging for stimulation now, right now. That synapse head rush becomes the driver, and the hoarder ends up back at home with a box full of stuff and she can't remember exactly why she had to have it.
 

The Thanksgiving Cheese Ball

Remember those refrigerator bins I never cleaned out? Well, I didn't find the ham steak (yet) but I did find the Thanksgiving cheese ball. The one she forgot to serve us in 2009.

When I went to throw it away my mother pitched a fit, "It's still good!" she exclaimed, "It's vacuum packed." So I put it back into the refrigerator bin. I suspect she is going to try to serve it to us this Thanksgiving. I guess we will wait and see.

Scissors Poll Results

The results of the poll are really close:

• 56 pairs of scissors - 27.3%
• 18, 27 and 31 pairs of scissors tied at 22.6%
• 13 pairs of scissors - 4.5%

My informal household poll:

• 13 pairs - Patrick (my brother)
• 18 pairs - Peter (my son)
• 27 pairs - Me (a lucky guess, before I started counting)
• 28 pairs - Mom, hoarder extraordinare

Here are all the scissors:

The true answer is 27 pairs. However, I found another pair after the poll was underway so my Mom had the answer pegged:

I am wondering if she really knows the answer to how many of everything she has. Inquiring minds want to know.

Three Vintage Treasures

Three reasons why I keep looking through the piles carefully instead of throwing everything out:

1. Alligator pumps and clutch, circa 1964:

2. White fur muff, circa 1920:

3. Fox Stole, circa 1930's:

Sorry no stories tonight. The result of a very busy and over scheduled day.

Did you Find the Ham Steak?

I heard the truck pull in late last night and excitedly ran downstairs to show off the (semi) cleaned refrigerator to my brother who had so thoughtfully thrown out the stinking meat the night before when my Mom was sleeping. Before the disposal of the meat, the stench was putrid and instantly permeated the entire house within seconds if you opened the door. My mother is absolutely immune to this. Good thing the neighbors are on vacation as I believe the stink of it would have driven them from their beds screaming.

Once the scent was semi-bearable around here, I decided to just jump in there and clean the fridge out no matter what my Mom said. No asking, just doing. I asked my son to run upstairs and get the Tilex (which I had used to clean out the disgusting bathroom a few weeks earlier). "Why do you need to use Tilex in there!" my mother demanded as if I was about to kill a puppy. "Because there is mold growing in there." I stated calmly. "Oh," she said and walked away and I knew I was home free. She was resigned (or so I thought).

Six month old Apple Cider, dated 2/7/10; miraculously unalcoholic

Cottage Cheese, dated 12/20/09. I was too afraid to open it up. I just threw it away.

What my brother later referred to as The La Brea Tar Pit -- "You could catch a mouse in that shit," he claimed.

Because I assumed my mother was resigned, I did not initially expect the intermittent disputes against the disposal of certain items. "Why is the rice in here?" I called out (My first mistake. So stupid to ask a question. Now she had the stage.) "Because there were bugs growing in it." From the tone of her voice I could tell that what she really wanted to say was "Because there were bugs growing in it. What are you stupid?!"

"I'll tell you what, Ma. I'll throw out the rice and buy you a new bag." (Second mistake. Trying to negotiate with someone whose truths are irrational.) "You Will NOT," she stormed in, "That's expensive rice there." Her thought bubble read: "Why would anyone throw out rice when there are just some bugs in it? If you throw it in the fridge, you'll put the bugs in a stupor (like you do with lobsters before boiling them) and keep more of the eggs from hatching. Duh. My daughter really is an imbicile."

We had a similar disagreement about several other items, including:

• two-month old, moldy hot dog rolls - What she said: "They'll freeze up nice." What she thought: "Some mold is good for you."
• pickles in a jar so old the cap was all rusty - What she said: "the vinegar keeps them preserved forever." What she thought: "You wimp. I'll eat those any day." My return thought: "Well, why didn't you eat them already?"
• italian sausages, five days past their Sell By date, no longer pink but medium brown - What she said: "These are just fine. They look just like they did when I bought them (as if she could read my mind noting that the color was terribly wrong. Even when reading your mind, the hoarder needs to be right.) I'll make sauce tomorrow." What she thought: "Look we can have a nice family dinner together."

"OK," I agreed. I later whispered to my son to turn down any rice or italian dinner offerings from my mother. Later, I told him the story about when I was a kid and my Mom made me eat really old sausages after which I projectile vomited my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

This is because the hoarder is unable to take responsibility for things -- sometimes horrendous things -- which may be their fault. And, as my brother said, "She built up her tolerance eating bad shit out of that fridge for years. You could drop her off and she'd survive in any third world nation."

And, "Oh, did you find the ham steak?"

Me: "What ham steak?"

Him: "Shit, you didn't clean out everything did you?"

Me: "No, I still need to clean out the door and the bins."

Him: "There's a really old ham steak in there somewhere."

Scissors Poll

Here is my Mom Pat, the hoarder. I thought you should know her name and see that she's a real person.

She was hamming it up when I was taking my inventory of scissors. She also pointed out several pairs of scissors right out in the open that I had missed. It's like a game of I Spy over here.

How many pairs of scissors do you think are visible in the hoarder's house? I say visible because I assume there are plenty of scissors hidden away I will never find.

Take the poll, below. I'll reveal the answer on 8/31/10.




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