Living with a Hoarder, Introduction

When my sister came to San Francisco for the wedding, I told her that I was marrying a hoarder. In all earnestness (and without missing a beat), she said, "Well, that's not so bad. And we don't have one of those in the family yet."

When most people hear the word 'hoarder,' they envision a house filled with stacks and stacks of old newspapers, empty cat food containers and mounds of garbage that should have gone to the recycling bins years ago.

My husband is a hoarder. But not the kind of hoarder that fits easily into the stereotypical image most people carry in their mind when hearing that word 'hoarder.' What he has amassed over the years is an odd collection of the valuable mixed with the nostalgic and the once-but-no-longer-valuable. And it is all globbed together in one giant birds nest of a mess that has made our living situation a challenge and embarassment, but not a nightmare.

We were legally married on September 22, 2008. I moved in with him in March, 2008. Prior to living with him, I was a bit of a minimalist. Sure, I have some excess luggage that I'd like to toss out of my life, but nothing that can't be handled within a four-hour period using a little elbow grease and common sense. Where we live right now, if we were to have to evacuate our apartment, it would take the better part of two weeks (day and night) just to sort through boxes and cartons, closets and cabinets, hidden envelopes and indelicate piles of notes, Christmas cards, birthday cards, reminder cards, bank statements (from nearly 20 years ago), gift certificates (still valid), family photographs, expired coupons ... well, you get the idea. The valuable and useless are inextricably lumped together. In my husband's world, the Hope diamond and a broken strand of plastic Mardi Gras beads would share the same box.

I begin the process of noting the surprises I find. A mere chronicle of bumps in the road as I attempt to find a middle ground for us -- one where a minimalist and a hoarder can coexist. And the irony of this blog isn't lost on me ... there are far too many blogs out there in the universe ... everyone is talking but few are listening. Is my creation of this blog any less of hoarding than my husband's? Nope, the irony isn't lost on me. But I feel the need to write my findings down ... for therapy, for catharsis.

Here goes.