My mother's parents saved what was useful. They washed out plastic bread bags and other bags. Grandma had a line in her kitchen and clothes pins for hanging the bags to dry. The bags were folded very neatly and stored in a drawer. Glass jars, pill bottles, rubber bands, paper grocery bags, and twist ties were saved. Newspapers too, that grandpa used to line the garbage can. I loved to watch him - it was almost like origami the way he crease and folded and tucked, It stayed put, never sliding off the can until it was taken off. I was a child then, sitting in the kitchen as I ate freshly picked raspberries still warm from sun. They would added a dash of cream and a little sugar. I was suppose to help grandpa pick them, but I ate more than I picked, of course. As I ate my raspberries and cream, grandpa would teasingly tell grandma that I hardly deserved the raspberries because I already ate my share. She would laugh and continue to washed out bags or fold them or go about whatever she was doing in the kitchen. The kitchen was a small walk through galley. Every inch cupboard and drawer was full, but neat as a pin. Organizing experts say that you can't organize clutter, but they didn't see my grandma and grandpa's place. They were both highly organized and more importantly, had the patience to put things neatly away. I loved looking in their cupboards and drawers, they seemed almost magical. My grandparents were very resourceful like most people who lived through the depression, and had living simply down to an art form. That is what I thought kitchen were suppose to be. Tidy, organized and filled with useful things. Simple, nourishing food that fuel the body was prepared. Sweets were homemade, but they occasionally spoiled us with M&M's in a pill bottle. Nothing was ever eaten in excess.
From all of this, my mother learned to save things, but did not have the patience to things neatly away. Twist ties inhabited every drawer, in the back of cupboards, and behind things on the counter. A day wouldn't go by that someone wasn't assaulted by a twist tie underneath a finger nail, but it didn't change her behavior. Paper bags: There was a mess of bags in between the stove and fridge, and there was a bag of bags in the pantry, stuffed to the point of tearing, bags on the floor of the pantry amid other things that didn't have place. Empty glass food jars were washed and stored on pantry shelves and in the basement. Mother bought too many cookbooks, and had trouble with deciding what to do with paper. There was a cabinet underneath the counter devoted to the cookbook collection and the paper stuffing. A bank of cabinets opposite the main area held the "nice" dishes and serving pieces. It also held things that mother never found a place for, and more papers. She would buy things to hold bills, but these things quickly turned into catchalls. She still has a problem with paper and still stuffs things everywhere. She is a reader, and she has trouble parting with things she reads. I've been trying to help her get rid of stuff and organize for her, but she spends our precious time reading things she saved. Newspaper, magazines, newsletter articles. It seemed to me that mother rarely participated in life. Dad would take us places and mom was always on the periphery reading. I hated the clutter that was associated with her reading. New furniture was purchased, a side table and a secretary. Those things regularly filled up with books and papers and magazines. Their surfaces filled with knicknacks that she didn't want to dust, so she made me do it.
My dad was the neatnic and a saver too. His mother died when he was 12, his father when he was 19. The garage and basement were his domain - full of man things, and full of unwanted gifts, glass wear, serving pieces no longer used, decorative items no longer appealing. They got rid of nothing. My dad, unaware of his clutter, would make my brother and me go down stairs to clean up "our mess". What he didn't realize was it only took us 10 minutes to pick up our toys, the rest of the stuff in the basement was their stuff, but all he saw were the toys.
I became a saver of things, too, but only neater like grandma and grandpa. I also brought unwanted things into the basement because that's what people did. That's what post WW2 people did. They bought things and replaced things because they could. The guy next door brought home a lot of things, things people actually did discard. His garage and basement were filled except for small paths. Organized though. It was fascinating for a kid. There were treasures in that basement.
I remember liking all of those filled-with-stuff spaces. They all seems to reveal secrets if you looked long enough. Which reminds me... I had an aunt and uncle who didn't have children, but their place was so fun to be in. The basement was decorated with cheap trinkets from their travels, their den too, but it held the nicer things. They had a big cabinet for storing bathroom things. My aunt had the largest collection of makeup and perfumes that I had ever seen. I loved looking it it when I visited and I loved how it smelled. They had those classic metal toys in the front entry, and huge glass jars to with coins to cash in and use for their next vacation.
Oh, and everyone's attics held ancient family treasures that got passed down. I know a women who said that we must keep these things, so future generations have a connection to the past. I'm still on the fence about that one.
If you walked into my house, and opened cabinets and drawers, you wouldn't think I have a clutter problem, but I am still living with unwanted things. I got rid of lots of stuff on and off over the last 10 years, but the real uncluttering started about 3 years ago. I was going to get rid of the rest earlier this year, and then my husband said one day "I see you are getting rid of more things". He looked worried. I let his reaction derail me, and for some reason I can't finish now.
