Periodically, in every great packrat’s life comes the point where they have to give in and begin the great throw-a-way.
I’ve reached that point.
It all began with a basket of unmatched socks at the end of laundry day.
I try with all my best intentions to always purchase the same kind, the same style, the same brand.
So, Saturday evening rolls around and I am sitting in the rocker with this huge basket of socks.
After picking up four or five socks with big holes in them I have to make that hard fought decision to toss the worst of the lot in the trash can.
Misshapen cuff–out they go. That one with the hole in the big toe–it’s out of here.
Surprisingly enough it didn’t take long to whittle that huge mountain of socks down to a more manageable stack.
While I was going so strong I thought I might go ahead and work on a few other items as well.
First comes the underwear drawer. You know how your mom always told you wear clean underwear, just in case you get hit by a bus. I never understood that one, either, but you know, whatever.
My mom would be very proud. Should, I get hit by a bus, all my undies are nice and clean. Unfortunately, they are also in worse shape than my socks.
I’ve mended lots thing in my life, but looking at the underwear collection now in the trash bag, I understand there is no mending basket in the world that could fix that lot.
On to the next to drawer! Forward ho while the gusto is good.
Oh man, this is my T-shirt drawer. How do I possibly decide which one of these wonderful bits of fashionista to part with!
Let’s see. There’s that white one that I promised I would not wear but to church. How do I explain the big rip across the front where I squeezed through some barbed wire after church to rescue a calf?
Considering the placement of the rip, I don’t see me wearing it again. Be gone you hussy, be gone!
I could consider keeping the gray one after all it is only missing part of one sleeve. It got caught on some piece of equipment or other. It is still wearable, but I know if I promise I will never ever wear it to town, I will get caught one day and have to make a mad dash to town, looking more like a rag-a-muffin than normal.
Alas, the soft gray jersey must go as well.
A half a drawer later, I have room to get the downtrodden Ts out of the closet and relegate them as farm and weekend wear only.
That leaves my jeans.
Must I really do this? This could get really painful. By the time my jeans reach the drawer stage they fall in the category of my most favorite jeans ever.
It means they are soft, and faded and worn and PATCHED!
There’s that pair that now only has one hip pocket, because I used the other one to fix a rip in the knee. I don’t want to mention the fact I can see through them if the light is just right, or the fact that I hardly ever wear them for fear one wrong swift move might reveal more than the world needs to know about me.
Be still my breaking heart, but they must go.
At the bottom of the drawer is the still dark blue pair. They’ve hardly ever been worn. They used to be comfortable, but then the horse stepped on the back hem and ripped the leg halfway up. I lost some weight and they don’t fit so well anymore.
I guess I can part with them.
Finally all that remains is the pile of boots.
I have my old riding boots, which are painfully uncomfortable. No I might need them.
How about the brown insulated waterproof mountain boots. Surely they could go! No, it will rain again, someday.
After failing to relegate three or four more pair I figure I’ve done my deed.
The great throw-a-way is over for this year.