We Don't just THROW Things Out Now, Do We?!

Tuesday 24th September 2013

We don't just throw things out now do we?

Today I went to the mountain. The mountain, when I last saw it was relatively tidy.  I am not daft enough to expect it to stay that way and I would be a bit worried if it did.  When I last saw it the stairs were clear which was one of the health assessor's requirements for him to be able to come out of hospital.  Below is how I last saw it.

Today when I went round little signs of the beast within were creeping back.

Oh dear.  

To be fair Imelda has had a pine stair hand rail fitted.  For his own reasons he decided to varnish it to match the other side which was dark wood.  Therefore the items you see in the picture are the varnish and sponge he used.  Not really sure why the sink plunger is there but we will see.

I took some bits and pieces which I had moved to my house for various reasons back to the mountain.  I took them into the house to put them somewhere safe.  I went up the stairs to the bedroom and Imelda was there behind me watching me like a hawk.  He must have cleared those stairs like a whippet on ice. 'What are you doing?  What's that?  Where are you putting that? What's that you've got?'

I went into my old bedroom.  Most of the stuff in there, which was mine anyway, was taken out by me last month.  I moved out in 1994 so there is no excuse for any of my junk to be adding to the clutter.  There were a few bits of my stuff from back then in a drawer - some scraps of wool and a few unfinished sewing projects.  I could see they were all bin fodder but for MY bin in MY house otherwise they would never leave the house (I see a pattern emerging here - my automatic and inbuilt reaction of taking rubbish away to put in a bin).  I can totally understand now why my mother would have taken stuff to friends, relatives, neighbours, aquaintances, opticians or whoever else had a bin and a sympathetic ear.  I put the stuff in a carrier bag to take away and Imelda appeared as if by magic and started looking through the bag.

'Its OK its all mine!' I said

'Yes, but what is it?' said Imelda, rooting through my stuff.

'Its rubbish dad - from my room.'

'Yes, are you going to throw it out?'

'No dad - I will take it home to my house for the kids to use'.  I learned ages ago the truth is not always the best option - I lied and I didn't have my fingers crossed so now I will never go to Heaven!

'Oooh, some nice wool here - you can use that can't you?' as if I had probably not looked to see what was there.

'yes dad - the kids will be very pleased with it'. (more lies...I will have to go to Church at this rate.)

I pointed out some books, brand new which I had found while clearing.  The books were those baby hard page books which are designed for a babies of about a year to 18 months old.  The baby will chew the books and get sticky fingers all over them, hit the cat with them and possibly puke on them.  The baby will never be able to read them but the parent is supposed to do that while the baby looks at the pictures.  The books are virtually bullet proof. These were lovely Winnie the Pooh books.  There were two sets of three books.  Obviously bought for my kids - who are now eight and ten.  When I asked him about the books he said he had got them for my kids but had 'mislaid them temporarily'.  In other words they had become buried in the layer of junk corresponding to the year 2003.  I asked if he wanted me to take them away (to a charity shop).  He said 'Well they can still look at them can't they?'

I pointed out that my kids were now reading very well and the books they read now do not have pictures.  As usual he ignored me  'Yes well perhaps they can have them for Christmas or something - I'll keep them for now'. 

 I expect they will turn up at Christmas this year (providing he has not lost them again) wrapped in some  obviously 'recycled' paper, stuck up with masking tape and with 'To Granbab, Hape Berthdey'. written on it.  That is if they are lucky enough to have real wrapping paper, often it is just a carrier bag.  Perhaps the books will turn up with the recently re-discovered two left flamenco shoes, one size 5 and the other a size 6.  If they are even luckier they may get a tea towel as I did for my 21st Birthday present.

Anyway - enough of that.  I went outside into the garden as there were still boxes out there which I put there the day he came out of hospital and they were getting damp.  I started to go through the pile and Imelda was watching me like an expectant pidgeon. I showed him three pairs of new wellies I had found.  I realised one was size 5 ladies - my mother's wellies.  I said I could take them home.

'Yes but we don't just throw things out do we?'

Noooo!

He really truly has no idea at all how hard I checked and sorted his stuff.  He still thinks I threw out huge piles of new stuff.  For the record I did not throw anything out which I thought he may miss.  I did not throw out anything which someone else may have found useful, I did not throw anything out which he could have reasonably needed to keep.  I didn't need to - there was enough total and utter rubbish in there which was taking up space.  Most of what I threw were old newspapers and magazines dated as far back as 1979.  I did find a batch of papers from 1878 but I kept them.  I flicked through every magazine I threw out in case there was something hidden inside.  I opened every apparently empty envelope.  I unraveled every discarded receipt (and found £20 notes wrapped in a few of them). I sorted everything with his signature on it and burned them separately. I kept ALL letters from the past five years in case he needed them.

I searched through EVERY SINGLE ITEM that was thrown out from old ear buds to old record players - including the one which had an accident with my foot mentioned in one of the early blog posts. (Yes he noticed it had gone).  He is not angry as such, he daren't be, however he does try the old guilt trip routine.  Today it was his old gardening jumper.

'It was knitted for me by your mother you know . It had a run on the one arm but it could have been sewn up. It was very warm in winter in the garden.' 

That particular guilt trip won't work with me.  If my mum knitted it I know for a fact she would not have minded if I threw it out under the circumstances.

Anyway, now I have a more pressing issue.  The bag of stuff from his house which I put in my car earlier on was forgotten about.  I left it in the car while I went to work.  I finished work at 9.30pm and the smell hit me when I got in.  Poor Oggy stinks of musty feet.  The bag is now in the bin but the feet smell is still there.

:(