I Might Need That…Someday

Are you a Pack Rat? Pack Rats are collectors who cannot bring themselves to dispose of things that they “might need… someday”. They are also called Hoarders. It is fairly easy to determine if somebody is a Pack Rat: Just look in their garage. If the rafters are full of boxes and other possessions, and if there is not enough open space for one car to easily fit into each stall that is intended for that purpose, they are probably Pack Rats. Oh sure, there can be some reasonable allowances made for anybody who has a short-term demand for that space, but I am not talking about a short-term issue.

These habitual “collectors” take over other places, too. Basements, spare bedrooms, storage sheds and attics are all vulnerable to the squirrel-people. When the bigger spaces are overrun with their valuables, then the smaller areas are needed. That is when you will notice packed closets, dressers, counter tops, cabinets and perhaps some perfectly shaped boxes that slip quietly under the beds. All of these places become a refuge for the stuff that they “might need…someday”.

Naturally all of this is a matter of degrees. In some more extreme cases, every square inch of their living space is in use. There will be way too much furniture. Pictures, mirrors, shelves, knickknacks and racks fill the wall space while magazines, newspapers, clippings, and books dominate the flat surfaces. The outside of the refrigerator has become a cross between a billboard and a repository for notes, doctor’s appointments and recipes.

For some of the more troubled pack-rats, all of this space combined, is still not enough. Some of them even rent storage space down the street somewhere. They crave more space like a drug addict needs a fix. Nothing else matters. Very often hoarding is a symptom of psychological frailties. We stumbled upon such a case just a few days ago.

My precious wife has agreed to watch over the home of an elderly woman who is suffering from advanced stages of cancer. Fortunately the sick woman has a loving family who has taken her in. But they live quite a distance away, so it is a difficult for them to visit the property, and it is unlikely the ill woman will ever return to the home that has been the receptacle of decades of accumulating things that she probably was never going to use. Yesterday we stopped by as agreed to make sure all was well.



The charming and orderly exterior of the home belied a semi-tragic contrast to the alternate-truth that was waiting to greet us inside. We clicked the button on a garage door opener that we were given for access to the two-car garage. As soon as the door lifted, a midsized car begged us for some breathing room, but we ignored the plea. There was a four-foot thick stack of boxes and old belongings jammed up against every square inch of the perimeter wall. The mountain of things that “might be needed…someday” was 5-6 feet tall.

The pathway to the kitchen door was threatened by countless boxes, which were piled up against the walls in a haphazard fashion, and hoping to jump into the sliver of open space. We carefully negotiated our way through the mini-canyon of a path and entered the woman’s home.

The upstairs was as previously described. There were way too many belongings. Furniture, magazines and breakables were wedged into every available spot. There was a large curio-cabinet that was full to capacity with dozens of charming figurines. A quick visual inspection of the home revealed that the floors offered the only available open-space. The walls, counters, closets, coffee tables, end tables, and dresser tops were all occupied. According to Health and Balance, abnormal hoarding is usually a malfunction of the frontal lobes of the brain’s cortex, usually on the right side.

One comforting observation was that we were dealing with clutter, and not filth. The ill woman and her family managed to do a good job in that regard. There was no stinky trash, no dirty dishes and nothing else that would cause a weak stomach to churn. It was basically safe and sanitary.

Before we left, we decided we should go down to the basement to make sure everything was okay. We have visited many vacant properties over the years and we have learned that this is where the signs of problems tend to show up. We have stumbled upon such surprises as leaking water pipes, a dead cat, bums, broken windows and rotted foods.

I could barely descend the stairs due to a dozen plastic tubs that were packed in there: Each one the size of a microwave oven. The tubs were somewhat transparent so one could observe that they contained harmless non-perishables such as rice. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs I found a light switch and discovered why the tubs lived on the stairway: There was no other possiblity.

The abundant pile of items in the garage was dwarfed by the accumulation of odds and ends that resided in the lower level of the dwelling. Boxes were stacked upon piles, and piles were stacked upon boxes. Bags and random objects were thrown in to break up the visual monotony. The isles that formerly allowed visitors to negotiate through the maze, submitted to the pressure. They too had been filled in, and joined the mountainous collection of leftovers that “might be needed…someday”

Two of the basement corners were inaccessible without trekking over the top of the mass of objects. Rather than risk making an even bigger mess, we elected to complete our examination from afar. Fortunately, there did not appear to be any problems so we locked-up the home and departed.

When we were driving away we felt like we would like to do more for this family. We have cleaned up bigger messes before. The first thing we would do is order a construction dumpster, but of course, any such action or even the mention of it would be inappropriate. It was basically none of our business. So we dropped the topic and recalled the two other times that Patty was called upon to clean out homes like that. Believe it or not, they were both much worse, but that is a topic for another time. According to AOL Health, there are approximately one-million Americans who suffer from Compulsive Hoarder Syndrome. Patty has known three of them personally.

To see a sad documentary about how two families have been affected by hoarders CLICK HERE.

In part two of this topic I will share with you some related stories and some tips that might help if you think you have too much clutter which you “might need …someday.”

Your comments are invited

Drop by my blog about Family Finances

Over-explaining (too much clarification)

Five of us went to dinner tonight (at Bonefish Restaurant). In attendance were Patty and me (correct grammar might be ‘I”) plus our two sons (Adam and Justin) as well as one of Adam’s long-time buddies (Bon 2 {yes that is really his name [it is an African name]})

In the course of some of the small talk (there was a lot of that) Adam proclaimed that both he and I have a tendency (if not a habit) of over-explaining ourselves. Since I had never really heard of a word such as “over-explaining” (or zillions of other words) I asked him what he meant.

He proceeded to tell me (and anybody else who wanted to listen in{oops; ended with a preposition}) that he was reading a book (an uncommon occurrence because he is usually too busy for recreational reading) in which the author (I don’t recall the name of the book or the author) was constantly explaining himself by employing parentheses (Also parenthesis). Apparently, it was not uncommon to see two or more examples in a single paragraph.

Adam went on to suggest that both he and I do the same thing in everyday discussions (although he was not doing it as he was explaining himself). Quite frankly, I had never noticed him “overexplaining” himself, but I will freely admit, that I sometimes take too long to get to the point in normal conversations (if there is such a thing).

I pondered whether my writing (such as articles like this one) was also dominated by over-explaining. I concluded (perhaps wrongly) that I am not as long-winded in print as I am in person. I do not usually use too many parentheses (or brackets). That does not mean my writing is perfect (or even close to it). In fact, I think it would be a better use of my time to focus on using more adjectives. (As an example, let me reword that last sentence: The fair-minded author had the unrestrained audacity to presuppose his own humble readers would derive deeper pleasure from his routine insertion of fantastic and colorful descriptions of nouns {but I suppose that could also be overdone})

Thank you for the fun idea, Adam!

Perhaps next time we can review in what part of the sentence a preposition should be.

What grammatical issues catch your attention?

Grammar Girl iza good plase two lern boute sum stuf.

John McIntire writes good articles about grammar.

You’ll enjoy “The Best of The Best” and more at Mental Floss,

Drop by my other blog about family finances from time to time.

What Happened to Hats?

When I was about 7 years old, my grandparents were in their 50’s. They all wore hats. It was a normal part of their attire. Many men wore a style of hat called a “fedora.” You see them all the time on the movies from the 40’s or 50’s. At that same time, the women of that era wouldn’t go out in public without a hat; especially to church. A hat was as much a part of her standard outfit as her shoes were. Haberdashers (you don’t get to work that word into your conversation very often) must long for those days; a time when everybody wore hats.

Over the succeeding decades, the use of hats has evolved. For Instance, according to Ken Austin, the first baseball hats were worn by the New York Knickerbockers in the 1880’s and they were made of straw. They were designed exclusively for keeping the sun out of sensitive eyes. But I am sure you have noticed that most of the young fellows of today wear these hats backwards, presumably to keep the sun off of their necks. The coolest guys of all twist the cap slightly to the side so that it only protects one ear from the sun, probably the ear with the biggest earring. In the mean time, they squint to keep the sun out of their eyes. I guess the girls think they look cool like that. A doctors perspective on wearing hats backwards and side ways.

As far as the ladies are concerned, there were two primary reasons women wore hats in the olden days. First, because people bathed less often, and that means they also didn’t wash their hair very frequently; so, hats served to distract from that greasy look. (want proof?) Second, hats were a way for women to make fashion statements. We have all seen pictures of some really creative ladies hats. Some of those hats tower a full foot above the heads of these beauties. They decorated them with colorful feathers, elegant ribbons, fancy fabrics and occasionally some fresh fruit. That probably explains why they went on so many picnics and were destined to have large families.

These days, you just don’t see many female hats wandering around. I think most women wash their hair more often than their great grandmothers did and they use things like foot tattoos to draw attention to their natural beauty. I guess they would rather have their toes sucked than go on a nice picnic.

When I do see a woman wearing a hat, I can’t tell if she is wearing it backwards or not.

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