Pack Rat

Hello my name is Rosa and I am a packrat! It doesnt matter what the item is,
my sense of sentimentality or optimisim for "perhaps someday I'll use this"
has me forever stuffing things into closests or drawers. A old delapadated chair
thats long since seen its last days still sits in a room in my house simply because
its sentimental of Dad. Where is that line between being conservative and being a packrat?? Clothes, long since outgrown hang in the closest for eternity for that "I might fit into it again someday" hopeful goal. Then theres the forward thinking packrat, this I credit to my Dad for teaching me , an example would be .. a common store recipt for groceries.. saved in a book or drawer for the "years from now it will be cool to look back and see how prices have changed" reasonings. Perhaps thats a bit extreme in patrack-isim but still an example just the same :)

Packrats were a happy bunch, content to sit on unpractical treasures for years
clining to our validations of why it has to be kept. We start calling rooms in our
house "the junk room" where all our "someday" cherishables are stored. And if
by some miracle the day arrives we actually do use the long kept item, its like scoring a touchdown! So happy keeping it all that time proved to be worthwhile! The odds of this happening are of course slim, .....but...you never know!!
I recently had to "clean out" my packrat room...yes i have a room...*hangs head* and
being a packrat not much progress was made each item met with the same reasonings..
"I might use this" or " I've kept it this long, why part with it now" haha!
Are you or do you know a packrat too ??

Thank you for reading!

Todays Poem: Mothers Memory

I walked into my childs room
and my eyes they gazed about
just four walls at first it seemed
and a small window to look out
The bed was made quite neatly
the floor was swept and clean
all my life I'd pictured this
but 'twas only in my dreams
I felt the walls looked empty
without the posters many
once a room filled with noises
now I heard not any
I still could picture the entire room
burried under scattered toys
I still could hear "clean up this mess!"
booming from my voice
I turned around and saw
there in the doorway frame
several tiny straight lines
underneath my childs name
several lines upon the wall
doesn't look like much at all
but for a parent who sees through tears
each line was a precious year
starting small they'd start to rise
cant count them all through blurry eyes
up to the top they go so fast
how quickly then the time was passed
I turn to leave from this room
how sad that my exit has come to soon
I retrieve my kerchief that I came for
and full of remembrance open the door
How I long to linger here
and relive the memories of this room
but I have to hurry back downstairs
to hear my only child say , "I do ".