Thursday, October 24, 2013

Too Good to be Missed

I admit that I'm kind of a hoarder. (That sad chuckle you heard came from Husband, who also was heard to say "Kind of? Ya think?" as he shook his head.)

Fortunately, I haven't yet reached the level of those poor souls they make television programs about, where the chicken bones are in the fourth stratum up from the floor but still are buried in the newspapers and cat poop that form the layers of trash above. No, you can still walk through my house fairly much on ground level. Every once in a while, though, I can't quite stand to throw something away.

See Exhibit A in today's photo. A couple of weeks ago the pull-cord of the kitchen ceiling fan gave out. And by "gave out," I mean it broke off way up in the innards of the contraption. Because I am prone to excessive glowing while cooking, we knew we could not do without a ceiling fan so it was off to Lowe's and within a couple of days we had a brand new fan. (Complete with REMOTE CONTROL! So clever, these Americans.)

However, the glass globe from the old light fixture still was perfectly good and once the dead bugs were cleaned out of it, had kind of a pretty shape.

"Hmmm...." said the hoarder voice in the back of my head. "That looks like it would be a beautiful fruit bowl, or maybe the base for a Christmas arrangement that has a lot of pinecones and red ornaments, or maybe..."

(The hoarder voice in the back of my head needs to get off of Pinterest.)

And then Husband walked by and said, "Hey, don't throw that away--remember the time we broke the globe from the last fan and had to put in a whole new fixture because they don't sell replacements?"

See? I'm not a hoarder. I'm a compulsive pre-planner of disasters, and the globe is now stashed securely in the cupboard at the bottom of the basement stairs where our heirs will find it some day and shake their heads sadly. As they throw the globe in the trash, they will commiserate about their crazy mother who couldn't throw away anything. It will be a bonding moment.

You're welcome, heirs.

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