The House of Abundance
by Sue Mayfield Geiger
Listing the house on the market was the easy part; moving her widowed mother to the nursing home, not so much.
Even worse was the tedious chore of clearing out the contents of the small tract house where Cheryl’s mother, Iris, had lived for 60 years. Cheryl signed the realtor’s contract, adding a stipulation of a two-week waiting period before the “For Sale” sign went up. That would give her ample time to cull through the various items, decide what to keep, what to give away, and what to trash. Little did Cheryl know that she probably could have used six full months once she saw how laborious it was to dig her way through Iris’s assortment of the good, the bad, and the ugly. But she worked tirelessly around the clock and met her deadline.
Iris was a product of the Great Depression; thus, she was a hoarder—particularly when it came to food. So Cheryl knew the kitchen would require the most work. Iris’s canned goods collection could have probably gone to the Smithsonian, had it not been in such decay.
Tins of peas, carrots, lima beans, wax beans, pinto beans, kidney beans, pork and beans, French-style green beans, asparagus tips, whole kernel corn (white and yellow), leaf spinach, crinkle-cut and whole beets, diced and crushed tomatoes, Spam, corned-beef hash, tuna, mushrooms (sliced and marinated), artichoke hearts in water (and oil), salmon, soups of every flavor, canned hams, pineapple chunks, cherry pie filling, pumpkin, cod fish, Vienna sausage, chili (with and without beans), sweet potatoes, sardines, hominy, canned milk, and so on. Then there were jars and bottles: mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, sweet pickles, dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, peanut butter, jelly, jam, preserves, and olives. It was all just too much.
Most of the items had never been rotated, plus several did not have expiration dates, meaning Iris bought them long before the FDA ruling. Cans that did have “use by” dates were alarming—they had expired years before their prime and had either exploded or were just void of contents due to evaporation. A good number of the cans were rusted clean through, so a pile of crumbling tin and rust residue was apparent toward the back of the cabinets, where decomposing cans had been stored for decades. The bottled goods in glass containers faired rather well, yet anything in plastic looked like a science project gone terribly wrong.
The house sold within three months and went for the asking price. A blue-collar worker and his girlfriend bought the place because it was near the chemical plant where he was employed. Cheryl was relieved because the neighborhood was no longer the pristine suburb she’d grown up in and she was happy to leave it behind. Before she left, she did a final check of the attic: mostly empty, except for a beat-up headboard leaning against the wall. She decided it was not worth taking.
Clifford, the new owner, was anxious to explore every nook and cranny of his abode. So the first thing he did was to investigate the attic where he came upon the old headboard. Hmmm... This would go nicely with the double bed he’d moved over from his trailer. He reached for the headboard to move it from its resting place, but it was stuck. He pulled and tugged until it gave, causing a floorboard to come loose. Clifford grasped the piece of flooring, lifting it until it popped up with ease. He could not believe his eyes: an abundance of cash lay beneath.
He carefully removed the money, which was neatly stacked and sorted by denominations—tens, twenties, fifties and hundreds. It only took him about 20 minutes to count out the bills—exactly $50,000.
Clifford put everything back like he found it, climbed down the attic stairs, went into the kitchen, grabbed his girlfriend and said, “Honey, we’re going out tonight to celebrate our new home. I’m taking you to that steakhouse you’ve been wanting to try.”
“But we have a mortgage payment now,” she said. “Can we really afford to do that?”
Clifford twirled her around the room and smiled.
“Let’s splurge,” he said. “Just this once.”
Back to Sue's Page
Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved. Can not be reproduced or used without written permission.
by Sue Mayfield Geiger
Listing the house on the market was the easy part; moving her widowed mother to the nursing home, not so much.
Even worse was the tedious chore of clearing out the contents of the small tract house where Cheryl’s mother, Iris, had lived for 60 years. Cheryl signed the realtor’s contract, adding a stipulation of a two-week waiting period before the “For Sale” sign went up. That would give her ample time to cull through the various items, decide what to keep, what to give away, and what to trash. Little did Cheryl know that she probably could have used six full months once she saw how laborious it was to dig her way through Iris’s assortment of the good, the bad, and the ugly. But she worked tirelessly around the clock and met her deadline.
Iris was a product of the Great Depression; thus, she was a hoarder—particularly when it came to food. So Cheryl knew the kitchen would require the most work. Iris’s canned goods collection could have probably gone to the Smithsonian, had it not been in such decay.
Tins of peas, carrots, lima beans, wax beans, pinto beans, kidney beans, pork and beans, French-style green beans, asparagus tips, whole kernel corn (white and yellow), leaf spinach, crinkle-cut and whole beets, diced and crushed tomatoes, Spam, corned-beef hash, tuna, mushrooms (sliced and marinated), artichoke hearts in water (and oil), salmon, soups of every flavor, canned hams, pineapple chunks, cherry pie filling, pumpkin, cod fish, Vienna sausage, chili (with and without beans), sweet potatoes, sardines, hominy, canned milk, and so on. Then there were jars and bottles: mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, sweet pickles, dill pickles, bread and butter pickles, peanut butter, jelly, jam, preserves, and olives. It was all just too much.
Most of the items had never been rotated, plus several did not have expiration dates, meaning Iris bought them long before the FDA ruling. Cans that did have “use by” dates were alarming—they had expired years before their prime and had either exploded or were just void of contents due to evaporation. A good number of the cans were rusted clean through, so a pile of crumbling tin and rust residue was apparent toward the back of the cabinets, where decomposing cans had been stored for decades. The bottled goods in glass containers faired rather well, yet anything in plastic looked like a science project gone terribly wrong.
The house sold within three months and went for the asking price. A blue-collar worker and his girlfriend bought the place because it was near the chemical plant where he was employed. Cheryl was relieved because the neighborhood was no longer the pristine suburb she’d grown up in and she was happy to leave it behind. Before she left, she did a final check of the attic: mostly empty, except for a beat-up headboard leaning against the wall. She decided it was not worth taking.
Clifford, the new owner, was anxious to explore every nook and cranny of his abode. So the first thing he did was to investigate the attic where he came upon the old headboard. Hmmm... This would go nicely with the double bed he’d moved over from his trailer. He reached for the headboard to move it from its resting place, but it was stuck. He pulled and tugged until it gave, causing a floorboard to come loose. Clifford grasped the piece of flooring, lifting it until it popped up with ease. He could not believe his eyes: an abundance of cash lay beneath.
He carefully removed the money, which was neatly stacked and sorted by denominations—tens, twenties, fifties and hundreds. It only took him about 20 minutes to count out the bills—exactly $50,000.
Clifford put everything back like he found it, climbed down the attic stairs, went into the kitchen, grabbed his girlfriend and said, “Honey, we’re going out tonight to celebrate our new home. I’m taking you to that steakhouse you’ve been wanting to try.”
“But we have a mortgage payment now,” she said. “Can we really afford to do that?”
Clifford twirled her around the room and smiled.
“Let’s splurge,” he said. “Just this once.”
Back to Sue's Page
Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved. Can not be reproduced or used without written permission.