Nostalgia Shop of Stuff

I often brag about the hoarder status of my childhood home, the house in which my parents still live.
no, it's not tv show material; we don't hoard to the point of rat infestation or psychological intervention. And, it's hardly necessary for any type of sanitation truck to get involved. But, it is, at many times, necessary to devise strategy on how to get from one room to the other, past the towering boxes, the upright piano, the lamps, the old televisions, and books. And if you have bags, you are taking several trips.
             Our house is a victim of hoarding, i'd argue, because of a mixture of my mother's stubborn refusal to throw away anything  (i once found the tooth fairy's collection of baby teeth, as an adult) and my parents' competitive frugality. sales, coupons, and cars in which to take it all home are the enablers. i've sat many a time through epic stories on the greatest deals: the handmade chess board from a woodworker in Istanbul for a fraction of the cost and then ultimately paid for with winnings from a casino trip the day before, the luxury office chairs for next-to-nothing from an accumulation of Staples coupons and points, and the free refridgerator?. And if you know my dad, you know him for many things, but one of these things is his many pair of $200+ sneakers that cost him $9.99, and sometimes less.
 
we often joke about my mother's inability to part with things.
school-made Halloween decorations dated as far back as the 1980s, yellowed English papers from the 60s, and 8-track players are commonplace in our home.
           During Christmas or any gift-giving occassion, you can count on seeing this in full blown capacity. my mother will save any wrapping that came with the gift. This includes: the box or bag in which it came, the paper  in which it was wrapped, the tape (if unwrapped neatly enough), any ribbons, paper stuffings, Styrofoam peanuts, and/ or any plastic casing (bubble wraps included). while everyone else is frantically trying on or playing with their new toys, her Christmas gifts sit under the tree, unwrapped, but neatly re-wrapped for preservation. if you got her a gift, you can count on it standing the test of time.

my mother is able to further this art of saving of everything, by washing anything and everything that can be washed: aluminum foil, ziploc bags, plastic-wear from take out, straws, cups from the movies (these are a huge commodity)...
The black Stouffer's macaroni and cheese containers have become staples in the Morgan household- good to hold anything from cheeze-itz to paper clips. and if you get caught throwing away anything that falls into the "can be washed and reused" category, you will get cussed out.

our home is a place of veritble inventory.
you need it, we got it. you need toothpaste? crest? total? aim? or aquafresh? we got tubes for years. spaghetti sauce? to last you months. plastic bags? oh, i'd say enough to last a decade, easy.you need a sony walkman circa 1992? i can probably find you three, dusty as hell, but all in working condition.

with new company, i used to be somewhat ashamed of this eccentricity. i would  feel the propensity to explain away the organized hodgepodge of collected items throughout our home, chalking it up to redecorating or extensive work for charity, never willing to admit that we actually stuffed most of the junk away in a room for their visit.
... i remember it took 7 years to clean out our garage, and I never found my bike; although we found helmets and wheels as evidence of its existence.

my parents' latest project, now that we are all grown (and almost all out of the house) has been sorting through the years. my dad has hired my 14 year old nephew to clean through the attic. there are boxes and bags of our history everywhere. it's almost as if we have created a nostalgia store throughout the house. i've found the perfectly worn books i used to read as a child- the very books that made me fall in love with reading. i've found enough to fill my classroom library. we've found tiny snowsuits, tattered soccer balls, and sketch books frozen in time.

And it's odd, the feeling it brings. i now feel empathy with the mother who was so reluctant to throw away those baby teeth. i'm grateful for the time machine, for this capsule of nostalgia. i'm grateful to see my life in this capacity.

As i sit in my childhood home among the towers and stacks of things that shaped my existence today, I'm in love with the way sites of memory hold this power; this power to pull us back while simultaneously propelling us forward.