To collect means (according to dictionary.com) to gather a group of similar objects. To hoard means to collect items for future use and keep them carefully guarded. According to these definitions, I am something of a hoarder, although these days, colloquially, hoarding implies a kind of crazy mental attachment to things that can’t be controlled. I do know that I don’t “collect.”
My grandmother used to collect little bird figurines. Almost everywhere you looked in her house there was a bird of some sort staring back at you. My 
mom used to collect those little Hummel figures—not the real ones. But I was never drawn into that. I’m sentimental…and yet, not. My mother-in-law once convinced me to collect pewter cups. In Virginia, pewter is readily available and some of the fine cups used for display are really beautiful. I collected three and then lost interest. Maybe I don’t have the patience to build an actual collection. However, for hoarding…I find that a little too easy.
For years and years (like for thirty years), hubby and I dragged gifts we got for our wedding around with us whenever we moved. By things I mean beautiful, well-intentioned gifts that we never ever used or displayed. Like a 
silver serving tray, silver monogrammed drinking glasses, and silver tipped salt and pepper shakers. Nope, never used them. Kept them in the same boxes we received them. But I kept packing and moving them with us because for some reason I just couldn’t let them go. Crazy? Yeah, I think so a bit. Finally, in a wild downsize, I sent all of that stuff to the Salvation Army but—I won’t lie—it was painful.
Even after the downsize, and here where storage is diminished, I have tubs of stuff I keep looking at and saying, “I might use that (salad spinner, 
ridiculous dust collector I picked up in Chicago, book my mom gave me fifteen years ago, etc.), so I can’t toss it away.” That’s how it goes, folks. One day I will have to say goodbye to all of it, but until then, all of that stuff is in four tubs stacked in my closet. Sigh.
Do you collect or maybe (like me) hoard? Let’s commiserate!
Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.
Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!
Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!
Betty Ann Harris is an author of romantic suspense and romantic paranormal mysteries. Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, raised in Maple Glen, and residing in Southeastern Pennsylvania, Betty Ann is an avid reader who loves curling up with a good cozy mystery or suspense book. Besides being a wife and mother, Betty Ann enjoys home decorating, playing with her two adorable dogs, and she also works as a book/author promotions consultant.
But what if I’d been assigned to another math class, we hadn’t hit it off as friends, I hadn’t gone to the Christmas concert, or arrived a few minutes later? Small moments in anyone’s life but they combined to form a unique path in my life and afforded me the kind of love I’d dreamed of as a child. Maybe I would have been just as happy without having met my hubby—maybe I’d become a doctor who saved lives, or married to a professional living in a house with a white picket fence with two-point-three children running around the yard with a black Labrador puppy. Or maybe my life wouldn’t have been happy. Maybe, fate having passed me by, settling me into another algebra class, I would have remained alone. That road not 
traveled might be fun to think about, but my philosophy rests more along the lines that we live the lives we should, and we should make every effort to be happy.
From its DVD writable drive to its mic plug. I’ve lived with this machine for so many years I had to look up the date we bought it. Now its chugging away back in the office trying to recover files at the manufacturer’s settings so we can see how much stuff we’ll be able to recover. (Note to self: Have “Back up more!!” tattooed on forehead.)
by Becky Wade that were Christian books (yes, I like my reading eclectic 😉 ), True to You and Falling for You. Both made me laugh and Falling for You made me cry, too.
it’s mostly been eradicated here in the U.S. I was lucky. One leg and my back were affected, and even luckier, my godfather was a Shriner, so as soon as I stabilized and reached the age the Shrine Hospitals would take me, he got me in. The Shriners were like my fairy godmothers throughout my life. I can’t think of a finer organization! So thank you Shriners! I mention all that because having polio is part of my childhood and my memories. So here goes…
was my favorite person in the world. He was my mom’s stepfather and I guess he’d always wanted children, and then he got me. I rode him around the living room like a horse, danced while standing on his feet, and watched TV with him while sitting on his stomach. Nothing I did was wrong or bad as far as he was concerned. I loved that man with all my heart!
already flattened the tired once by riding the bike all over the flight deck when he could. I was so excited over that bicycle I couldn’t see straight Soooo…he taught me to ride but not to stop. I used to run into things—fences, trees, etc.—in order to stop instead of using the brakes. Don’t judge. I’m a slow learner. We took that bike with us to Virginia, our next duty station, and I rode it for years.
thought that if I could afford it, I’d rent a cottage in the moors around Inverness and spend a summer writing. That’s my fantasy vacation! It hasn’t come about but I fill my fantasies by reading books in Scottish settings.
train in Waverley Station in Edinburgh I felt as though I’d come home. Maybe I’d lived there before. The city called to me. I wandered at will and had a great time and met some fantastic people. I also loved the area around Loch Ness (so beautiful!), and Stirling and Balquhidder are gorgeous. Skye had light like I’d never seen, and I could spend a week there just looking out over the sea.
back there again. I haven’t given up hope!
Especially in this season, there is much to be grateful for. There is so much, in fact, how does one limit it to a few? Don’t know… But I’m going to try.
and I learned things I’ve never forgotten. It planted my feet firmly on the ground and centered me. Plus, it gave me a perspective on everything in life since. As hubby says, once you’ve started to jackknife coming down Donner Pass in a blizzard, the meaning of “stress” changes forever more.
experience things most people have not. I’ve been able to write. I’ve enjoyed both working and not working. I’ve been blessed, totally and sincerely. It’s such a wonderful feeling!
I have to say, I am not a very good cook and I’ve become worse since being married. My family used lots of seasoning, so at one time I knew what I was doing with them. But Jack likes no seasoning—not spices, herbs, salt, or pepper. Nothing. He says he likes the taste of food as it is meant to be tasted. So I’ve learned to eat food the same way and that somewhat limits what one can do in the way of creativity. Consequently, my culinary acumen has suffered. I do still have a few dishes I cook and Jack eats them or he fixes a sandwich. (Okay, that’s not accurate. I fix his sandwich.) One of my favorite comfort foods is goulash, or what some call hamburger and macaroni.
with a slice of crusty bread and maybe a salad. Doesn’t matter—it takes me back to my childhood. Funny thing. Years ago when I first started making goulash for Jack and me, it didn’t taste the same as when Mom made it. I asked her why and after relaying how I made it, she asked when I added the secret ingredient. Once I started that, the flavors were the taste of home. See if you can spot the secret ingredient.
