by jphilo | Apr 14, 2015 | Top Ten Tuesday
Well, well, well, the recent series about the top ten things collected by Great Depression era moms and ten more things they collected certainly struck a chord with readers. Thanks to all who left comments on FB about what your moms saved. My favorite was this classic: Mom would hang paper towels up to dry if she only used them to wash her hands.
In those posts, I promised to air my own dirty paper towel laundry about the silly things I collect…habits drilled into me by my frugal Great Depression era mother. Here goes, and feel free to step in any time to air your silly saving habits, too!
10. Pens. Every conference I attend, I resolve not to pick up any free pens. But the vendors are so persistent, and the pens are so cute. Pretty soon, I’ll need to start collecting cups for storing pens on the top of my desk.
9. Geranium stems that break off the plants I winter over. I would save African violet leaves and stems, too, but I am death to African violets. But my cousin Karen saves them. Since we were childhood best friends, I save then vicariously through her.
8. Rain water for watering houseplants and the geraniums I winter over. The water is saved in the gallon plastic milk jugs I also collect.
7. Shoe boxes. They’re very handy for packing and mailing biscotti to publishers when a new book launches.
6. Rubber bands and twisty ties.Throwing them away just isn’t right.
5. Vegan butter spread tubs. The hip, new gen version of margarine tubs.
4. Plastic grocery bags. And the occasional tissue box, which make excellent plastic grocery bag dispensers.
3. Wrapping paper, foil, and waxed paper inner rolls. My daughter-in-law makes the coolest stuff for her kids out of them.
2. Toilet paper rolls. Because walking through the door and handing them to your 2-year-old grandson immediately makes you a rock star in his eyes.
1. Memories. The more I gather, the dearer the people in them become and my life grows richer with each one.
Okay, confession time…what do you collect? Leave a comment!
by jphilo | Oct 7, 2013 | Daily Life
Hi, my name is Jolene Philo, and I’m a plant hoarder.
Yesterday, when the man of steel and I were repotting outdoor plants, preparing them to winter over in the house, I finally realized the extent of the problem.
When we ran out of pots, were almost out of dirt, but had plenty of geraniums waiting for winter rescue, my husband looked at the porch full of the fruits of our labors and said, “We have enough plants, right?”
I started to twitch.
I pleaded, “Just one more, please?”
I whined.
I begged.
But the man of steel stood firm.
Because even though I believed we needed more,
we had enough.
Enough to winter through the winter.
Enough to harvest plenty of slips for rerooting in the spring.
Enough to use all the rain water I’m hoarding I’ve wisely stored in the basement.
That’s what my rational brain whispered,
while my hoarder brain screamed,
“THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH!
YOU NEED MORE,
MORE,
MORE!”
And that’s when I knew I needed help.
That’s why I’m at this meeting.
In a dark church basement with only one window.
With one geranium sitting on the window sill.
Would you excuse me for a moment while I break off a slip for rerooting?
Just one.
I promise.
Just one.
by jphilo | Sep 24, 2012 | Daily Life
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.
