I’m standing in my closet looking at my shirts. To the far left are the ones I don’t wear anymore. They’re a little worn. Maybe missing a button. Most of them are out of style, whatever that means.

I know for certain that some of them are at least 30 years old. I know this because there is a family picture in my kitchen. The kids are little. We are on the top of Stone Mountain posing in front of my old Yashica 35mm set up on a tripod. I know this because I am in the picture and not behind the camera.

In the photo I am wearing a blue striped, short sleeved shirt. In my closet, that same shirt is hanging 5th from the left. It has, I think, a spaghetti stain on the chest. I am a messy eater. It will likely still be hanging here when my kids go through my stuff after I’m gone.

My rationale is this.

I could still wear it. It still fits. It could be a work shirt. Nobody cares if you wear a shirt with a stain on it as long as you’re doing something that looks like work. I could paint and not worry if it gets spattered. I could work in the yard and not worry if it gets dirty. I could use glue in my shop and wipe my hands down the front of it and I wouldn’t care.

I haven’t done any of those things while wearing this shirt. But the idea that I could, makes me want to hold on to it.

I think this way about most all of the stuff I own. I get the I-might-use-that-one-day attitude from my dad, who kept everything.

Case in point. Yesterday, out in my shop, I made a holder for a 36” wide roll of paper. This is the brown kind of paper, like the old grocery sacks, that you can use to protect your work surface from glue, stain, or paint.

The wood I used came from a pile I have had since about 1998. I made the dowel from an old mop handle that came over on the Mayflower. And the cutting edge, I made from an old bandsaw blade that went to a bandsaw that doesn’t work anymore which, btw, is still in my shop.

I only needed a 36” piece of the blade, which means that there is a 44” piece left over.

I laid the extra piece aside while I finished the holder. I thought about cutting it up and tossing it in the trash barrel. But I decided to think on it. I might need it one day. I might wish I had it in case some project calls for it. You never know when you might need a piece of a used bandsaw blade.

I drilled a tiny hole in one end and hung it on the wall with a finish nail. It will probably be hanging there when I die. It might not.

This is a kind of sickness from which I cannot escape. This is the reason I have a couple of junk drawers in the house. This is the reason I have coffee cans full of random nuts and bolts and screws and washers. I have bins of old hinges and drawer pulls. This is the reason I have a cheese grater in the pantry which, to my knowledge, I have never used.

But I might.

Understand. I am not a horder. I recognize the difference between true junk and useful junk. I don’t keep the cardboard tubes from the Christmas paper. I throw away the bread ties. I don’t hang on to shoes with torn soles. I keep my pile of old newspapers to a minimum. My collection of empty jars with lids is manageable. My house is fairly clear of clutter.

I do have a weakness for lamp cords, however. The old lamp gets busted. The old toaster dies. The old alarm clock gets too outdated. I toss the appliance, but I am prone to cut the cord and save it. You never know when you might need to replace one.

Case in point. Marion bought a 1937 Emerson ‘Seabreeze’ fan in a junk store last week. The tag said “Display Only” because the fan didn’t work. The cord had been cut off at the back of the motor housing. It was just $25, and she liked it.

The other day she brought it down with her and we took it out to my shop to go through it and see if we could get it running. The blade spun fine. No dents in the housing. So, we took it completely apart and inspected the pieces.

One of the wires on the inside had, at some time, gotten hot. The shielding had melted, hardened, and crumbled apart. I snipped and cleaned and resoldered the connections.

We needed a new cord. The original one had been cut off. Unfortunately, I was out of my supply of used ones. At the hardware store the replacement cords were almost eight bucks. The 9ft household extension cords were three bucks.

I reasoned with Marion. “Let’s just buy the extension cord and I’ll cut off the end that we don’t need. It’s the same wire.”

Back in the shop, we cleaned out the dust, polished up all the parts, and put it all back together. I plugged it in. No sparks or smoke. I flipped the toggle switch, and the fan came to life.

Based on the high-fives and smiles, you would have thought that we just won the lottery. But the point is, I should’ve kept more old lamp cords.

I keep broom handles, pieces of wire, and empty coffee cans. If it has wheels or casters on it and “it” needs to be taken to the landfill, I remove the wheels to save them. Old towels I keep for rags. Old pill bottles work great for storing toothpicks, and tacks, and tiny screws in a toolbox.

Of course, in a woodshop I have saved almost every scrap of wood left over from the last hundred projects. I look at a tiny piece of scrap wood, or a cut-off end, or a leg from a broken table, and I say to myself, “I bet I could find a use for that one of these days. I had better hold on to it.”

The last time I moved, I threw out a lot of my stuff. Relocation has a way of forcing a man to choose his keepsakes wisely and prioritize his stuff.

But that was thirty years ago. I have had time to accumulate more stuff. Not surprising, there is very little of which I am willing to let go.

So, anyway, I’ve decided to wear the shirt with the blue stripes. I’m gonna go out in my shop and find some old stuff to make something. I’m gonna use some wood glue and stain. I’m gonna wipe my hands on this shirt. I’m gonna feel justified for keeping it all these years. And then, I’m gonna throw it away.

I’m tired of looking at it.