Recycling, reusing, and repairing things and I have had a long and idiosyncratic relationship.  Even as a child I remember reusing whatever materials that could be found to manufacture items that I felt needed to exist.  Thick, very smooth template paper became a flexible toboggan for as long as it lasted.  Louis Alyea's auto repair back lot dumpster was a prime source of unidentifiable but potentially useful parts which I harvested.  The rough pine template lumber that was drilled with what seemed to be random holes that Pop brought home from the American Bridge Division of U. S. Steel became the mainstay of several projects from a (somewhat) high jump to a backyard "clubhouse" (which collapsed in upon itself) to the masterwork of my childhood, The Tree House.

This compulsive/hoarding behavior developed to a greater degree as I aged.  I began to keep "stuff" because "I might need it sometime."  This grew to the extent of keeping old Model A Ford windows or a dented radiator shell to keeping almost any electronic or mechanical part I came across.  A "thinning positive reinforcement schedule" made it even more likely that I would arrive home bearing some oddity, because I used such things fairly frequently.  At first it was quite rewarding to find a use for really strange objects.  Later and less frequently it became even more reinforcing to me when anyone marveled that I actually had a part that could be used fix something. 

The amount of "stuff" I saved grew in direct proportion to how much space I had to fill.  When the family moved into the present house, all but me thought it was terrifically funny that they moved "everything" and then they moved "Tom's stuff."  Both portions took approximately the same amount of time and energy.  That was over 15 years ago.  You may see this one coming, but now that I have a chance to sell the house "as is," I have fallen again into one of my existential crises.  I've already sorted in my mind and partially on paper what is to be given to the kids, sold, given to friends, donated, stored, or simply thrown away.  That takes care of about 1/3 of my stuff.  What about the two old (but still working) dot matrix printers, my working Commodore 64, and the Win 95 Scanner-Copier-Fax?  What about my drag racing and flying trophies?  For that matter, what about my metal toy truck and steam shovel?  What about the computer graveyard in the basement?  What about the 10 file cabinets (really) and the stuff that inhabits them?

After reaching this level of panic, I decided to start with something easy.  I would take my aluminum cans to the recycler.  Two and a half years worth.  They entirely filled the Cavalier.  The largest bag sat in the passenger seat while four other large bags were put wherever they would fit.  I filled in every empty spot with smaller bags of cans.  I thought I was going to have to resort to putting some in with the engine under the hood.  Fortunately, I overlooked three bags and did not have to do that.  It was a real effort to close the driver's side door and every time I shifted, I punched a bag of cans.  At several stops along the way, one particularly evil bag fell forward onto my head.  The staff at the recycling facility laughed at me!  Not so much when a couple of the bags broke open and we had to use a snow shovel to get them on the scales, though.  I had delivered 93 pounds of cans and the manager was tallying up what would be paid to me when I delivered the Coup de Gras, a coupon good for five cents extra per pound.  Then I was happy.  I could see most of the garage and family room again when I arrived home $60.00 richer.  I just hope that the rest of this process goes this easily.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2007, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff." - George Carlin