I told you all before grandma had her stroke that she was a hoarder. Her place is bad, really really bad. To top it off she would hide important stuff in-between pages of books or folded up in material. This means that we have to look through everything. She also had a mouse problem at the end. We finally got them taken care of it seems, but not before they ruined so much stuff. The porch, to get it cleaned off we filled up dads truck 8 times to haul off literal garbage to the dump. Now that the porch is clean we could start on the inside and drag out the boxes outside to sit on the swing to go through them. Inside is very much the same as the porch. She would not even toss the plastic rings from when she bought gatoraid or pop, she could weave them together to make something so she claimed. In all of this we are finding so many little things. About every box for some reason has pictures. Old pictures I have never saw or would never have thought she would have. I found a picture of my papaw on my dads side. He was about 22 and in his military uniform. Then I found a picture of him, my granny and me on my first birthday. In that same box was pictures of her with Rosie when she was about 2 months old. In another box was a scrapbook she had done filled with old newspaper articles she had saved. They were dated from 1966 to 1967. Some of those articles were about the fighting with Israel and Egypt and Syria at the time. Several were about a set of Quintuplets that were born and sadly all 5 passed. In that same scrapbook were 2 other tiny articles with a picture. I will have to take a photo to show you all. On the 2nd page is a picture of a girl holding a 4 legged rooster from Guam. The other one our friends @BY Bob and @Ponypoor will appreciate. It was a picture of a white polish rooster. I think the article was about a poultry show. It was so odd finding those two tiny articles in a scrapbook full of to be honest history. It was not long after that me and mom found the rooster windchime that I had to bring home. Cleaning up grandma's house is a daunting task. One that is so frustrating when you have to wonder why she had to keep so much stuff. There is also anger at times like when I found the outfit I brought Rosie home from the hospital in that she insisted she got to keep. She was going to put it in her cedar chest so I let her take it. Tossed in a box of commodities that was buried in the living room filled with mouse droppings and chewed up. No saving it, and that one hurt. Then we find the pictures or the scrapbook that are untouched. In boxes full of mouse poop, yet untouched.
