I'm a Squirrel

My sister Linda called me a squirrel when I moved back to our family home after spending a few years out on my own, where I learned the hard way that I had it made at home with my parents, even sharing a room with two sisters, dinner was ready when I came home from work, laundry done or even if not done, which started the very first time I complained to my father that he ruined a shirt or something, that was it, do it yourself Treach (that's what he called me) and if you need special settings, you remember it. No complaints, I had a washer and dryer right there, no more searching for quarters or lugging my laundry to everyone's house that I visited. (If you know me, I again am without a washer and dryer and if I'm coming to your house and you have one, I will usually be asking, can I bring a load of laundry?)

But when I moved back home with the "stuff" I moved out with and the additional "stuff" I collected while living on my own, I went up to the attic to add it to my collection and noticed it was all gone. My sister Linda cleared it all out, said I was a squirrel and hoarded everything and decided I didn't need all my "stuff". She was right. I was pissed at the time, but she was right, I saved too much.

I still continued to do so over the years, saving silly things and putting them in memory boxes, you know those beautiful boxes, hat boxes of old, now storage boxes, and now I have a new collection, pretty boxes filled with "stuff". Of course I saved and continue to save pictures, even the ones that don't come out very well, or are not flattering to me or my family or friends. The pictures capture moments and if I didn't look so great at that moment, so what, it was still a special happy moment captured in time. I mean really, do you ever see anyone taking their camera's out at the hospital when someone's been in an accident or in a coma? Or at a funeral. Well I guess there are those that do and want to see that "stuff", not me, I want to hold on to the happy memories. I want to squirrel away my precious possessions to take out and look at, hold in my hands.

I've moved lots over the years. After my parents passed away I again moved out on my own to a much smaller space and had to get rid of "stuff" but you know I was collecting new stuff. Each move I got rid of more and each move I think I've gotten smaller apartments as well. I finally got to a point, I think just because I'm getting older, I don't want so much "stuff". I don't need a big space to live in, just more to clean. I'm not a knickknack person. Just more to dust, but there are certain things that I don't care if I have to dust them, I can't throw certain things away.

When I was still living in my parents home I used to come home from work and find rocks on the counter top, just a few. Not dirty, they looked like they were from someone's driveway or rock garden in front of a house but I didn't know where they came from and would toss them out on the lawn. Finally my niece Jessica, probably around 5 at the time asked me if I found the rocks she left for me. Oh! Yes Jess, I keep them in a special place! I was stealing rocks for a few weeks, one or two at a time, and even though they are not the ones my Jess picked up in her little hands and took home for her Aunt Tricia, I have a few in one of my boxes of "stuff" and when I look at the rock I remember that special little gift from Jess.

My nieces have all given me dandelions over the years, even a nephew or two when they were really young and I wish I could have kept everyone, hoarded them away in a box but even though I didn't, I can't look at a dandelion without remembering that some beautiful little person I loved picked that weed up and presented a beautiful flower to me with love.

And the pictures and the cards! From so many loved ones but especially the kids. I've scanned and put quite a few on CDs and DVDs for storage but some I still can't throw away, I need to hold that little piece of paper in my hands.

My oldest niece Irene...who will be 30 next month, so hard to believe, married, all grown up...she gave me a note, probably about 4 or so at the time, and it says "Aunt Tricia is a Nut Job". But she wrote it the way a four year old would, there wasn't enough space after writing A-U-N on the first line so she continued the T-T-R-I-C on the next line and then I-A-N-U and finally T-J-O-B. I'm not sure she could even read it if she tried, the letters are all over the place, no straight lines. I love that note.

My cousin Sandra has our Grandma Loretta's vacuum cleaner. Grandma Loretta died in 1976 and I'm sure that vacuum cleaner was pretty old by then, and though Sandra hasn't even tried to plug it in and see if it works, she wont throw it away and like me takes it out of the back of the closet every so often and just looks at it. Maybe there's a squirrel or two in every family.

I've mentioned I'm 12 years older than my youngest brother Joey, who was my buddy when he was little and my personal entertainment, he could make anyone laugh from the time he was sitting in his high chair to this very day, a great sense of humor. Although I have dark brown eyes and hair, three of my siblings are blue eyed and four of them were born with blond hair, Joey's the lightest of all, almost white. He had a little curl that fell at the nape of his neck and after his first haircut I saved that little curl, tied a blue ribbon around it and put it in a little box, saving it for myself for years and then making sure I kept it to give to his wife. Unfortunately Joey married a woman who didn't like keepsakes, not my kind of keepsakes anyway, and even though they are divorced now, I think that little box with Joey's little hair tied in a blue ribbon was thrown away years ago. Live and learn! I should have saved it for his children in one of my boxes of "stuff" and waited until they were old enough to pass it along.

My brother Michael gave me something very special before he died and I kept it for many years. I didn't like to keep it with me for fear that I would lose it but sometimes I did keep it in my pocket to have him with me during hard times when I needed a piece of his strength with me. It would make me remember the day he gave it to me with a pride he deserved and because he knew I believed in him, was proud of him. I gave that to his daughter and though she may not keep it in her pocket or even take it out and look at it, I know she'll never lose it or throw it away, not only was it her father's but now it's a piece of her Aunt Tricia too.

When my mom died there wasn't much to keep of hers. She was a simple woman, things didn't have meaning to her. For birthdays and Christmas and Mothers Day, she wanted a dinner out, no cooking, no clean up. Or tickets to a Broadway show or even better, cash for the racetrack and then dinner afterwards. My mom wasn't a jewelry person, though because of her weight gain over the years and my father buying her a new wedding band each time her beautiful fingers got a little chubbier, my sisters and I all have one of her wedding bands, which again didn't mean anything to her and doesn't really mean much to me. What I saved and is important and meaningful to me is one of her pocketbooks. Again nothing fancy, no name brand, in fact I would never use it, I just like to take it out of the bottom of my closet every few years or so and go through the things inside. Not much in there. Her Avon lipstick. She always wore CocoPoco and though it doesn't smell like it did when it was new I still open it up and smell it. I can remember the Avon lady coming to our house in Brooklyn, bringing those little lipstick samples that my sister and I loved to get and use. They would sit and have a cup of coffee, a piece of cake, chat away and then we'd go through the little book together, just looking at the pictures of all the makeup. There's also an eyeliner pencil in the bag, something I've never used but my mom lived during the times when women plucked their eyebrows super thin and drew them on with a pencil. Her social security card is in there too, with her signature, just a simple thing that means so much to me, her name, written in her hand. A car service card, from her last job as she would work late at night and come home by car service, unless my dad picked her up, which was 99% of the time.

So I'm a squirrel. But I've saved some good "stuff" and gotten rid of a lot of the meaningless "stuff". I'm proud to be a squirrel, saving special "stuff" for the dark cold winter days of my life.