The Ties That Bind

Hoarder is such an ugly term. I prefer to think of myself as a collector.

It's not entirely my fault I'm this way. You see, my grandparents grew up during the depression. (My parents blamed their own collective tendencies on my grandparents, so – just as with left-handedness – I've learned to ascribe this trait to the gene pool rather than my own cognitive powers.) And people reared during the depression learned to hang on to every scrap they had.

After all, one never knew when a twist tie from a bread bag could come in handy, so it was best to hang on to it. And the more twist ties one had, well the better prepared one would be for a situation that would call for 87 of them.

I have yet to find myself in such a situation, but I do have a drawer with about 15 twist ties at the ready. I'm actually rather proud of this, because until recently the number was more like 30. I culled down during my last move, which I guess makes me a demi-hoarder, really, having cut that clutter in half.

"How did she have the courage to make such a bold move?" you might wonder.

Well, it all started with a vetting process. As I packed up for the move, I took stock of my stuff. When I came across the twist tie drawer (yes, there was a drawer), I found that about half of them had already been used, twisted and turned every which way but loose. The plastic coverings were worn and torn, exposing parts of the metal wire along the center, yet these were the very twist ties that I had been using, had continued to use, despite the fact that there was a strip of brand new ties stuck together in a row, straight, neat and all pristine white. I had never used those because they were brand new, virginal. To tear one apart from the pack seemed almost an act of violence. So I left them intact and drew from the yellow, red and blue ones already warped in the drawer.

When I moved, I decided it was time for an upgrade. In a act pop-psychologists would surely applaud, I decided I would no longer dimish myself by thinking I wasn't good enough for new twist ties. I felt liberated as I threw every single used twist tie away. They would never save me from that doomsday scenario requiring a 36 inch cable that could only be made from little bits of wire and plastic. Farewell, MacGyver.

Now that I've been living with my new twist ties, I've got to say it's a nice change, although I've only torn two off the strip so far and have used them repeatedly. I will probably continue to use them until they die on me. But it feels good. Not only am I worth a new twist tie, but I am also part of something larger - a heritage of hoarders who made do with what they had, who saved for a rainy day, and who always had a spare twist tie on hand.