Cured From Buying? Maybe?

So Tom and I have lived at Hobbit Cottage for nearly 8 whole months and do you know what I've bought for myself in all that time besides food (including strawberry plants for my garden), clothes (3 little things from a thrift shop), 2 coupon wallets and a few Christmas gifts?

Seven books. That's it. In 8 months.

Now, is that because of our meager financial situation? Well, partly, yes. But mostly? Mostly it's because of that awful, nightmarish weekend we had moving away from the farm.

Oh. My . Goodness. I only told you part of that story. Being a first-born (in the birth order thing), I didn't ask for any help that last take-what-the-movers-left day. We first-borns (as a general rule) hate to bother people. If we're out at a restaurant, we've been known to gnaw on a still-half-alive-cow steak rather than remind the (poor, over-worked, under-paid) server we asked for one medium-well. 

That's me to a T. A typical first-born, don't-want-to-bother-anybody person.

I've also heard not being able to ask for help is a sign of pride, but for heaven's sake, let's skip over that.  :)

Anyway, so there we were at the farm over two moving days, the second one just Tom and myself, on the hottest weekend of the whole year. Tom (still with heat-exhaustion) was outside cramming leftover stuff from the barn into the car while I worked inside the house gathering leftover stuff from all three floors, sweeping, taking down curtains and sweating like a proverbial pig. 

Also, I'd become so sick of stuff by then, (and our car was becoming impossibly full), that I began leaving a lamp here in a corner, a chair here in the attic, another chair over there in the other attic, a lovely, vintage inlaid walnut card table folded behind the front porch curtains, a new little heater on the shelf of the coat closet, a spiffy plate rack on the wall, a pair of pretty drapes still hanging in a sunny window, my favorite rug still lying on the dining room floor and ----- 

Well, you get the idea. With everything spread-out like that, the house still looked empty. Or mostly so. And let me assure you--I left no junk and I did sweep the floors and it all looked neat. We'd already told the new owners we'd be leaving things in the barn (and they sounded excited about that) so I thought, hey, they'll probably be happy, too, to come upon these few items.

 But, oh that last day, especially! I officially became Sick. Of. Stuff. Sick of it, sick of it, sick of it. I promised myself I'd never go through such a nightmare--I'd never again do this to myself.

And since then, as I told you, I've hardly bought a thing. In fact, remember how I loved the American Pickers tv show? Well, I still watch it, but it's no longer my favorite program. All those barns and sheds and houses full of rusty old junk! Now they make my stomach go all tight. I get a little dizzy, a bit panicky. And then the memory of that final day at the farm haunts me big-time.

But it's all Good. I mean, oh my! Do you know how great it is to be delivered from feeling like you must buy things? I hope you do. Really. For it feels like freedom and freedom feels mighty, mighty fine, indeed.



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Yesterday Tom and I drove to the hospital in our former town to visit our friend, Donna. Please keep praying for her, ok? It looks like the stress of John's death gave her a major attack of rheumatoid arthritis, plus, a huge infection happened in her foot, plus, well, she truly needs all our prayers. She's been improving over the past two days so we're rejoicing, but she has a long way to go before she can return home--she can barely walk at this time. Thanks so much for remembering her.



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