I love stuff! I have collections of bells, angels, books, tapes, paintings, photos, brass, silk flowers, silver, china, you name it, I love it!

I display (and use) my stuff very carefully. Can't put too much stuff out in view at one time, since I dislike clutter. So I rotate my stuff. Sometimes the bells are on display and sometimes I pack them away and put the silver on display. Paintings are always on display, as are family photos.

Some stuff is useful and practical--various gadgets and gizmos. Some stuff is on shelves, some is hanging, some is on tables.

I keep browsing, buying and adding to my stuff. When I'm gone, all my stuff will be sitting in the driveway under a sign that reads "Garage Sale" and other people will be getting my stuff.

 






 

 

As I look around at my "stuff," I see
A replica teddy bear, my old friend brought to me.
She was always doing things like that.
"I heard you say you liked it" - so that was that.


There's a little stuffed pig she brought me, too.
"I had to buy it for someone, that someone is you."
No rhyme or reason she ever had,
Just open and honest, good mood or bad.


And there's a little carved pencil holder,
That daddy had on his own desk when older.
He wanted so to have a job at a big desk,
Didn't realize his importance at his own task.


A leather bound book from my uncle's art,
A Treasury man, but a bookbinder at heart.
The old book's at least a hundred years old,
Though the front pages are missing, a story is told.


So many "things" and each with its history,
Clutter to some, but some love a mystery,
Bit by bit a document has begun listing,
Interesting things, if a heritage is listening.


Old folks live amongst their stuff.
A crayola picture, a little table scruffed.
Somehow it softens the high tech age,
And warms the day you must turn your last page.


(I sometimes watch a program called "Sell This House" where prospective buyers are shown going in a house and making comments. Many times they say "There's so much stuff in here." And the owners almost cry when they put much of it in storage so "architectural design" can be seen. Sometimes they say "This smells like my grandmother's house." Wait 'til their grandmother is gone and see what they value then!)

 






 

 

There is good stuff, your stuff, and then there is my stuff.
Now my stuff is collectibles. Your's is well, you know, not collectible.
My stuff will be worth a fortune one day.
Yours, you really should give it away.


I have a post card collection, a stamp collection, a doll collection, an
old record collection, and many more that I can't think of right now.


I have collected things most of my life. Oh, I do have a four leaf clover collection from my youngest daughter. She can find them fast.

I have things I have written, things I have read, books that one day I will read.

Lists of places one day I'll visit. Lists of old friends I can't find now, but will keep trying.


Good stuff is worth money already, like the Declaration of Independence, the Liberty bell. Well you get the idea.

Try not to let your collection take you over. Stop one and take up one that uses less space. lol

 






 

 

For many a year, the man and woman lived in a state within the tornado alley territory, in a mobile home on two acres. He built a gigantic garage and assigned one small corner for her sewing room. He collected so much stuff that soon, she had a narrow pathway to her small corner.

He filled the garage; he filled the mobile home. And anything that didn't have to be under shelter, filled the two acre lot.

She begged for a storm shelter. The tornado warnings were terrifying. After his retirement, a tornado came and knocked out their carport. He decided it was time for the storm shelter. So he had one built in the ground near the mobile home.

Then one day a tornado warning sounded. They rushed out of the mobile home and to the shelter. Yes, you guessed it. They had to clear out some of his stuff to make room for them to get inside.

 






 

 

I collect and raise Dust Bunnies! They are so easy that they seem to just sort of collect themselves. I always know when it is time to thin the herd, that's when I need a ladder to get into my bed.

My cats are helpful when it comes time to herd them. They get under those beds and when they come out they have brought a lot of them with them. Of course, they do leave a lot behind too. Almost every Dust Bunny in my house has a lot of cat fur in it. I think this is called Foucault's Principle. Every time you leave a scene, you leave something of yourself behind. This not only works on "C.S.I."...it's good to go here too.

 






 

 

Barbara June Bodekker was a tall skinny lady who for 44 years taught Latin, Literature and Calculus at the Fromberry High school. Barbara June was Miss prim and proper, always dressed to the nines, never a hair out of place, but when Silas Putnam who she had failed three times in 66, 67 and 68 became President of the County school board his first order of business was to force Miss Barbara June Bodekker to retire. Old Silas after having flunked school three years his daddy pulled him out of school and said, “Silas if you are so dang dumb as not to be able to even pass school, then you can come work in the lumber business. Anyhow when Barb retired she had time to explore, the thing that had always fascinated her. Not like Lewis and Clark or old Marco, but to wander around, looking for treasures people were throwing in the garbage. Every morning Miss Barbara would get her grocery cart she had bought from Winn Dixie and begin her rounds. She was so much into it that she would pack her lunch and it became common place to see Miss Barb sitting in her chair beside her cart eating her sandwich and drinking her tea. Of course she had to wash her face and hands first.

After three or four years people just waved and said hi as they went about their business and she went about her’s. “What you do with all the stuff you tote home,” Ezra asked her one day.

“Oh I use it,” was her reply. Now Miss Barbara June Bodekker lived in a small brick house down on Sycamore. She had a large yard, no flowers but nice bushes and trees. Anyone who saw her garage door open saw that it was as neat as she was and her home. Unbeknownst to anyone except Mr. Fillister at the bank and Mr. Dunbar at the school Credit Union, Miss Barb had saved, invested and was quite well off. And each meeting of the School Board she sat on the front row, took notes and asked questions.

Silas Putnam wanted to throw the old biddy out because she knew Roberts Rules of Order better than anyone around and she would correct Silas every time he made a mistake as she would question any odd ball spending. Silas who should have thanked her for flunking him, had done well in the lumber business, then the cement business, the house building business and the wood, coal and heating oil business, wanted to send the old maid to the poor house. Every time Silas would see Miss Barb in his garbage or around his place he would go out and run her off and threaten to call the police. Little did he know?

One night at the Eagle’s meeting Silas saw Doc Pritchard, “Doc, can we get that old woman declared incompetent and have her put away, she is a nuisance,” Silas asked the young doctor who just happened to owe him some money.

“She is sane, saner than anyone in town and her habit hurts no one, she does what she always wanted to do, except for teaching school and you illegally forced her to retire.” Doc did not like Silas and found the next day he should not have spoken to a man like Silas that way.

The next day Doc’s loan was called in and three or four business men in town were squeezed by Mr. Silas Putnam. Miss Barb heard about it and for once in her life got mad. She began to carry off all of Silas’s garbage from his house and from his office. She went to the bank, of course Silas was on the board, paid off Doc’s loan then had her banker call Doc and tell him his loan had been paid at that other bank and they now held the loan, so he was OK. At the next school board meeting Miss Barb wrote a request to address the board. Silas was late and he sat down and looked at the agenda and saw her on the agenda he got all het up, but he bit his tongue. Finally it was Miss Barb’s turn.

She had that big old bag she always carried with her, sp she walked to the lectern, sat the big bag down, took out some papers and addressed the board. “Tonight I Miss Barbara Putnam do hereby request the resignation of the Board President Mr. Silas Putnam.” The place was in an uproar until order was restored. “Who you think you are, what are you talking about you crazy old woman,” Silas yelled out.

Miss Barb smiled and looked at Silas whose veins were about to pop and he was as red as if he had drunk two bottles of Texas Pete hot sauce. “Be quiet Mr. Chairman, I have the floor,” she said. Then she held up a sheaf of papers. “Mr. Chairman, mister Silas Putnam, I am charging you with bribery, fraud, misappropriation of school funds, income tax evasion and being the stupid ass you are.” Miss Barb nodded and Roscoe brought a large folding table in and set it up. She looked at the board, “I have a little stuff here I have collected which according to the County Attorney, the chief of police and the county sheriff are sufficient grounds for a grand jury to be empanelled.” With that she sat the big bag on the table and pulled out some stuff. It was papers she had taken from the trash. She would hold up a group of papers and explain what they showed, then another and another and finally she stopped and faced the small audience. “This one you will like, the school board has one Lila Skidmore on the payroll as a consultant, drawing five thousand dollars a month. As you know Miss Lila had a baby the other year and does not work. “ She held up a sheet of paper, “Here is the DNA tests that show Silas Putnam is the father of Dougie Skidmore and his mother lives off the money paid her to not disclose who fathered her child.”

Silas Jump up and screamed and yelled, ranting and raving. “I will get even with you, you old biddy, I got you fired for flunking me in high school and I will run you out of this town and see that your pension is cut off,” he yelled before he was forced to sit down. Miss Barb smiled and held up her hands, “Tomorrow this will be presented to the attorneys and Mister Silas Putnam, your loan for the Cozy Meadows subdivision is being forfeited because of inaction. You have seven days to repay the four and a half million.”

“How you know about that, you cannot do that, only the Second National Mortgage and Loan can do that.”

“Caleb Switner of the Second National Mortgage and Loan stood, “Mr. Putnam, the chairman of our board and our major stockholder read the loan and you are not in compliance with the loan.” He grinned, “You will be served the papers tomorrow.”

“What, you can’t do that, who is this nitwit, I will buy them out, I will ruin them, they cannot treat me, Silas Putnam like this,” he screamed.

Caleb arose, “Mr. Putnam, that person is standing before you, Miss Barbara June Bodekker.”

With that Miss Barb collected her papers, placed them in her bag, thanked the board and went home. As she left the building one man looked at his wife, “Now we know what Miss Barb’s stuff is in that bag. Oh Miss Barb collected all of the stuff and sent it over to the city where it was sold in four flea markets she owned.

 



 

 



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