Select Page
More Top Ten Items Collected by Depression Era Moms

More Top Ten Items Collected by Depression Era Moms

box collectionLast Tuesday’s post listed ten of the items my mother, raised during the Great Depression, continued to save for decades after the Depression ended. Pretty much until 2008 when she gave up housekeeping and moved in with my brother and his family. Ten is not nearly enough space to list 8 decades worth of collecting, so today’s post doubles the list, as well as doubling the awe of present-day penny pinchers who have no idea what it means to be truly frugal.

10. Used aluminum foil. Yes, foil can be washed carefully in soapy water, dried with a dishtowel, smoothed on the counter, folded like a napkin, and saved in the same drawer as the box of foil…sometimes more than once.

9.  Free pencils from the lumberyard, the feed store, and especially in the commercial building at the county fair. The fair was providentially scheduled only a month before school started, so Mom hid that pencil haul until the night before school began when she doled them out to her children, who had no idea pencils could be purchased at the dime store.

8.  Free yardsticks from either the furniture store or lumberyard. But Mom preferred the ones from the lumberyard because they made better paddles in case her poor, deprived, perfect children needed a spanking.

7.  Half-gallon paper milk cartons, plastic gallon milk cartons, and tin cans. These were saved in January and February in order to have a sufficient supply in March to use for starting tomato, pepper, cabbage, and other garden plants.

6.  African violet leaves and geraniums stems. When these items accidentally snapped off either plant, perhaps when poor, deprived perfect siblings tussled with one another and knocked the plant over–unaware that their mom had just acquired a new, stout yardstick from the lumberyard–the leaves and stems were immediately collected and placed in a peanut butter jar (see #7 from previous list) filled with water to re-root. Only when the plant bits were safely delivered to their new, watery home did the mother field test the yardstick on her poor, deprived, perfect children’s backsides.

5. Plants spotted in the ditch. Mom dug these out with the shovel she kept in the trunk–for emergency situations like spotting lilac suckers along a fence line–while her children huddled in the back seat praying no one they knew would drive by and recognize them. Or their mother. Or their car.

4. Shoe boxes. (see #8 from previous list)

3. Cardboard boxes* used for for sending packages through the mail (again see #8 from previous list) wrapped in…

2. …brown paper salvaged from large paper grocery sacks. Or the boxes mentioned in #3 might be filled with presents and covered with…

1. …used wrapping paper. The present would not be secured with string–that would be tacky–but with masking tape (cheaper than cellophane tape) rolled into a sticky-side-out tube and discretely tucked under the outside flap of the hopefully not-too-wrinkled, wrapping paper saved from last year’s Christmas, birthday, wedding, baby, and bridal shower celebrations.

*To be fair, the boxes pictured at the top of the page came from my mother-in-law (also raised during the Great Depression), not from my mother.

So, what’s missing from the list? Add your items in the comment box.

Hoarders–Another Kind of Cat Lady

Hoarders–Another Kind of Cat Lady

 

Our family closet doesn’t include too many cat lady skeletons. Mainly because many of us are allergic to cats. Which goes to show that even the dark cloud of allergies can have a silver lining. On the other hand, our family closet contains what I consider to be a variant of cat lady skeletons.

Hoarders.

Just a few, though. Well, maybe more than a few. Maybe a lot. Okay, to be both accurate and ironic, our closet is crammed full of them. There’s a deceased great aunt who could have been the inspiration for A & E’s Hoarder show. Several quilting aunts and cousins live by the motto, “She who dies with the most fabric wins.” And Grandma Josie, who raised eight kids during the Great Depression, saved yarn and fabric scraps, buttons, bread sacks, flower slips and tin cans for potting them until she gave up housekeeping at age 93.

The scary thing is, I’m becoming a lot like her.

Each fall, when the first frost threatens, my hoarding instinct begins, a mad attempt to repot my geraniums, asparagus ferns, and vinca vines so they can winter in the house. Every year, my collection of winter greenery grows to more closely resemble my grandmother’s ninety-seven geraniums in tin cans on bedroom windowsills and her scores of African violets arrayed on special plant stands in front of the picture windows in her living room and den.

And I enjoy having them around.

During the weekly watering of the plants, artistically arranged in front of east, west, and south bedroom windows upstairs, I take great pleasure in plucking off dead leaves and rearranging pots to take advantage of the sunlight. Inside, I feel just like Grandma’s face looked when, as a child, I watched her tend her plants.

I might as well jump into the closet with all the other family skeletons and get comfortable.

Except I only act this way for half the year. And only about certain plants. Also, I throw away bread sacks, don’t like to quilt or knit, and gave the button box to my daughter.

So maybe the crowd in the closet won’t accept me.

Which would be perfectly fine since the closet’s getting pretty crowded. Mainly because nobody inside it can throw anything away. But I can, and I do. So don’t even think about nominating me for Hoarders. And pay no attention to the year’s supply of toilet paper in the basement.

I have no idea who put it there.