At this point I have lost count. It blurs together as I ponder humanity's attachment to stuff. Is it an obsession with keeping stuff or is it attachment to memories--the way things were, days gone by.
The pix to the right show a relatively organized spot in the warehouse.
We found a box of old towels. Some in good condition some old and full of holes. The pea green and vibrant robin's egg blue are true vintage 70's shades. Not today's re-invention of the seventies but the real deal. "Why did my parents keep these?", I wondered. Were they carelessly thrown in a pile, not realizing what they were? Were they kept as a backup in case they were ever needed? An act of preservation ingrained in the psyche from the Great Depression? Or maybe this was to be a holding station until they were donated but somehow just got lost in the shuffle.
The only right thing to do? I took them home, washed them, kept a few vintage ones for posterity, and donated the rest to the SPCA. There they will be used for bedding or rags. One last use before an honorable discard to the landfill.
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