Suziecreamcheese Sings the Blues

We have no neighbors closer than 500 feet – I live in deep country and have been told often that when we built our house, we ruined hunting for lots of people who were used to just wandering about our land and shooting deer. I consider the deer my kids and they seem to know they’re safe here, so too bad for the hunters. I have no issues with people hunting, but not my kids, not on my land.

The people in the next house up the road are young, been married a few years, live in a small stone house with their little mutt (I was told she’s a “mini golden doodle. In other words, a mutt) who’s a sweet little dog about 5 years old.

They’re expecting their first child soon and I sort of got guilted into making a quilt. Yesterday I went and bought fabric, not what I was looking for but it will do. That was an interesting experience – fabric was on sale and since the pattern I’m using calls for quarter yards only, I decided to get enough to make two small quilts. Each piece of fabric was no more than $1.75. I got a couple of larger pieces to use for backing and a ball of yarn because it’s supposed to be some sort of heat activated and it’s new and so I had to have it. Nothing in my cart was more than $6.

When the clerk rang it up, I was watching the total go up – it hit $123 and I said, “whoa! That’s not right!” She told me with great boredom, “this place can get expensive.” Umm, not THAT expensive for 24 quarter yards of fabric unless that shit is made of gold cloth! I said, “no, this is not right.” With a deep sigh, she said, “I’d have to call my manager to look at it.” Then she looked at me as though I was going to tell her not to bother. No, bitch, call and call fast! She handed me the receipt and lectured me as to which price I should look at because it lists the original price per yard, the sale price, and the price for the cut I got. Yes, Dear child, I know that, and I can add.

When I was in line to get my fabric cut, there was a man in front of me with a bolt of some fabric – not sure what – but it was $19.99 per yard. He asked how much 3 yards would cost and the cutter told him it would be $59.97. The man said he would think about it and left. As I perused my receipt, I see that the first item is 3 yards of something for a total of $59.97. Bingo! I said to the clerk, “I believe this amount is from the gentleman ahead of me, it should have been voided.” Again, with a deep sigh, she announced she would have to call her manager. And what exactly is holding you up there, darlin?

Finally she called. She told him, as if I were being difficult, that I thought there was something wrong with the amount. I glared at her, and did something I rarely do because I hate when people do it to me – I interrupted and proceeded to talk over her, explaining that nothing on my list was more than $1.75 and pointedly asking if the manager – who had been cutting the fabric – remembered the gentleman who asked for a price on 3 yards? Ohhhhhh, yes, well, that should have been voided. Damn skippy it should have, so get on it, Sunshine!

He took the amount off, I paid for my fabric and was pissed off for the rest of the day.

Tonight I looked at the pile of fabric and said, “I should start cutting.” I can’t find any motivation. I’m not sure why, probably if I was cutting the puppy fabric I bought I’d be more excited about this. Also, it hurt my hip to stand there – not sure why, probably yanked out of place again by a certain puppy who doesn’t know his own strength. Oh well, guess those strips won’t cut themselves.

A friend of mine likes to share articles on Facebook about how people of our generation have too much stuff, constantly reminding us that millenials don’t want our stuff and thus, we should get rid of it all now.

Somehow this strikes me as not just annoying but downright obnoxious. The most recent article was by a woman who was writing about cleaning out her mother-in-law’s home after the woman died, and finding a stash of sweaters that were her father-in-law’s from years past. Apparently he had died some years earlier. She couldn’t fathom why THESE old things had been kept and seem to relish discussing how they were tossed unceremoniously into a dumpster, then going on about how much they had to pay for said dumpster.

If her mother-in-law had been at all considerate, she would have spent the last years of her life throwing out her little mementos and tchotchkes rather than leaving them this mess to clear out.

The title of the article was “Your stuff isn’t worth anything.” Perhaps it’s not worth much monetarily. The friend who posted it recently moaned about owning a set of dishes which had cost over $1000, and is now worth about $35 to an auction house, and how his daughter doesn’t want it. It’s merely taking up space in his home. Someone commented on his lament – “then USE it!” I cheered inwardly.

I was given the heartbreaking task of cleaning my parents’ home when my mother died. As my sister and I say, the hoarding gene is strong in my family. There wasn’t a shirt box given to my mother that didn’t find its way to the attic. We, too, rented a dumpster, and tossed most of those shirt boxes, along with a bit of other “stuff” that was of no earthly use to us but apparently meant something to my parents.

My sisters and I have a lot of stuff, stuff he would consider just junk and apparently we should immediately clear our homes of the things that give us joy because our children and grandchildren won’t want to do it. To this I say, “tough shit, I won’t be here and I don’t care.” I am happy surrounded by my balls of yarn that I’ll never live long enough to knit up, by my hoards of books that I’ve read and the piles yet to be read, by little trinkets that sparkle in the sun and mementos of my ancestors.

Because someone doesn’t want to be bothered at some point in the distant future (I hope very distant) to have to deal with my balls of yarn, and my books and my treasures, I suppose I should give them all up and live in an austere little one room cabin with nothing but a blanket and one pair of clothes.

I’m a touch crabby today. Get off my lawn and leave my stuff alone. And you want to be a minimalist, good for you, go preach it to someone else. And get off my lawn.