So after I returned that flimsy Edsal Steel shelving, I drove to Costco, filled up Traveler’s tank on their wholesale gas, and then bought my next, and probably my last restaurant size roll of plastic wrap.  I’ve no idea now how much the old one cost, but it was made by Reynolds and the box says it was two-thousand square feet.  Since it was a foot wide, figure that’s two-thousand feet long.  The new one is Costco’s house brand, Kirkland, cost about ten bucks and it’s also a foot wide and three-thousand square feet.

Heh…my packrat gene is screaming at me to keep the old box for posterity.  But it’s worn and tattered with age and probably not good for storing anything else now, and I don’t want to end up as one of those solitary old men with a house so full of random junk it’s got pathways you have to navigate between the piles.  I hate clutter, and that probably keeps the packrat urge in check.  Somewhat.  And I know which side of the family I got it from.  When I was going through mom’s things after she passed away, I got into the cabinet under the kitchen sink and swear to god I think she never threw out any little glass bottle or plastic tub she ever bought.  I knew what to expect of course when I opened those doors.  I grew up with it.  And you know her fridge was just packed full of leftovers, in little glass bottles and plastic tubs.  But she grew up during the great depression, so it probably all seemed very practical to her.  One thing I swore when I moved into my own place was that I would never eat leftovers again. 

I’ve tried over the years to limit my packrat gene to hardware.  And books.  I’ve got tons of books here and I’ve read nearly all of them.  I probably don’t have to visit a hardware store ever again in my life for nuts and bolts and washers and screws.