(Yankee) Hoarding - Part Seven - "Promised Land"

(Yankee) Hoarding

Part Seven

"Promised Land"

            Summarial Hoard... and I.

            Hope that it has been useful to open and expand the vantage of hoard and carry that expansion over to hoarding and hoarder.  And... carrying this too... to the hoardettes’ finger pointing and witch hunting hoard precept... to demonstrate THAT hoard view... without even a slight suggestion that one alters this last (hoardette view) hoard

Vision plight.  Too.

            No I do not want an adopted crowd forming at now recognized to be vital and/or mature hoard sites especially foisting an “I know” aura upon that site.

            No.

            No.  Just stay in the tacky world of finger pointing at hoard horror.  Drop the ‘Yankee’.  Move out West (west of the Hudson River corridor).  Clean the garage.  Out.  (There is nothing in there that is ‘good’).  Then go away.  I will promise to personally professionally be ‘one of hoard’ in your behalf.  One... is done.

            Go.

            What if a (Yankee) hoard hoarded ‘old clocks’ (“timepieces”)?  Would that?  No.  It would not.  If their alarms all went bong, bong, bong at once would that?  No.  A stupid dance like the car going beep, beep, beep when the key is turned.  If one found fifty-seven old timepieces gathered by one old man quietly over a very fifty-seven years with each stored in its own crude protective box to preserve each timepiece in its ‘as found’ state for the only reason that it assured the hoard that each component of the hoard was carefully included; fairly included; ‘equal to the others’.  This would be a problem right from a ‘get-go’:  “What do ... DO with them”.  A ‘this hoard’?  And one would not think of calling on anyone who would know.  Anyway.  “WHAT is there to THINK ABOUT?  Cleaning up a MESS?”

            That is okay

            As long as one goes

            Away.

            I get to a (all) hoard before the ‘you do’.  I know hoard.  Good hoard.  “Well”.  I get there first.  All the time.  “Boxes of clocks”.  That is an accurate hoard description presented by a hoardette who hastens to ‘clean out’.  “Them” she called... them:  To clean out them, a physical action based on mental evaluation... of a hoard.  “Fine”.  If the whole had been neatly ‘fixed-up’ (restored) and wall hung tick-tocking.  Bonging.  In the front hall, living room, dining room and... the other rooms of responsible (sterile) domestic management, let me say... ‘a different story’.  Yes.  Just nod.  “Yes”.

            These boxed clocks were “stored” (stuffed) all over the outer borderlands of the property.  Each box shut up tight; a ‘put in’ ‘old clock’ and ‘never looked at again’.  I found it a very exciting

            Hoard.

            I did not count the boxes of boxed up old clocks until I stored the full hoard in a section of a warehouse and... sort of had the time to do that to ‘them’.  Before that was too hectic.  Fussy... the family was about ‘getting the house ready’.  For what?  Who cares what idiots do.  Right?  Just nod.  I had to “do” the rest of the hoard too.  What?  You think there was only one hoard in there?  Do you see (understand)?  It is going to be a while before you can do hoard well... too.  I don’t expect you to show up.  I do expect you to be ‘cleaning out’ badly for the rest of your life.  Bricklaying?

            Sort of.  Right?  Hoard is a sort of bricklaying.  You know:  Like making a patio.  With this including “good job” and... “bad job”.

            The vast majority of hoard never makes it to ‘bad job’ or ... ‘good job’ “clean out”.  In most cases good... very good and “GREAT” hoard is not identified as, even, being hoard.  For example, on property ‘walk through’ tours, I am often shown a “collection”.  In most cases this would pass toward ‘accumulation’ and never come near a ‘collection’.  Behind ‘accumulation’ is the safer... border land:  Hoard.  What ever it is (‘old clocks in boxes’, for example)... it is... actually.... hoard.  Is it good hoard... or bad hoard?  Grand hoard or piss poor hoard?  Yes... girls... skip rope and... skip rope with the girls?  Boys?  This is why one is not there.  To be of ‘go away’ is the easiest hoard solution.  Yes; “cool” and “pretty much of a problem” isn’t it; ‘hoard’?

            Have I gummed this all up for you?  Or have I suggested and shown that (Yankee) hoard is one of the grand treasures; alternative asset allocations, of old New England?  And do I care what you ‘think’... about (Yankee) hoard.

            Well... for the last I don’t.  My ‘nose’ for hoard has me scampering around the (Yankee) borderlands perpetually (an inexhaustible supply of hoard).  And, simply, no one is there except the those-of-one-with-hoard and

            The confused... hands thrown up in despair... maelstrom trapped hoard swirl ‘victims’ of ‘hoard’.  Yes:  There we go... ‘victims’ of ‘hoard’.  In Yankee New England.  That makes everyone feel better about (Yankee) hoarding:  Victims.

            If this force has its way... all of the old worn ‘wide board’ pine floors of (Yankee) New England... will be sanded.

            Varnished.

            And shown off.

            All after “THE PLACE” is “CLEANED OUT” (“You wouldn’t BELIEVE what it was LIKE in there.”).  It was a good thing I moved all of those fifty-seven boxed up old clocks out of that ‘place’.  I, removing hoard, rescued ...victims.  The place was cleaned out.  The floors have been sanded

            Varnished

            And shown off.

            I was invited on a ‘house tour’ “TO SEE”.

            I didn’t go.

            I have written... in this blog... two long stories about hoard... with these stories never mentioning hoard or I... ever saying ‘hoard’.  They are both vast stories recording singular work (antiques dealing / rare book dealing) events that I actually did AND consider these to be... representative enough... to make a point of

            Being worthy to be told?

            Did I make a mistake doing that; recording the tales?  Not really

            I guess.  Who cares?  Right?

            This last is particularly adroit when one such as I confounds that this (Yankee) hoarding will never be ‘made out’ anyway.  Your in-battle (hoard battle) will never take place.  You will attend no hoard war.  No fight on the front line of a ‘big one’ (a Yankee warship of multiple layered hoard).  You will not be the ‘broom clean’ at the ‘empty’ end.

            In the first story; “The Crows Nest” (44 chapters/posts), the hoard is antiques with multiple hoard... multiple hoard locations, settings and ... multiple hoard ‘alternative asset allocation’ managers.  (Yankee) hoard interweaves with (Yankee) hoard.  It lives, it moves, in (Yankee) New England.  The story is about very large moving hoards; almost too big to be discerned as hoard.  But that is what all of ...it... is; hoards.

            The second story; “Can B. Worth” (37 chapters/posts), is a ‘rare book’ story that is an ‘inside hoard’ vantage.  “He dies in his hoard”.  For real.  It is a story about hoard and it’s fight against the ‘sanded floor’ people... from the inside hoard vantage.  Again this tale is, too, ‘almost to big to be discerned as hoard’.  But it is that: (Yankee) hoard.

            At first contact with the hoards of these tales, and through my whole relationship, I understood these ‘tales’ are (Yankee) hoard.  By the time I arrived at the hoards in the tales... I knew hoard very well.  For an example of my formative exposure to hoard, I suggest the much less cumbersome story; “The Codman Place” (7 chapters/posts).  That is a splendid story of how I came to hoard; the many hoards ‘in there’ and the nuance of each hoard... from when I was very young at this (Yankee) hoard.   Too.

            For the final closure, it should be obvious... but I must speak of it:  Yes I am a hoarder.  That is... I am ‘of hoard’.  Particularly... ‘of (Yankee) hoard’.  And I am very good at it.  Well practiced.  So well practiced that one would ‘never know’.  And that is the way it is supposed to be; the way (Yankee) hoarding... is.  I live in hoard.  I will die in hoard.  The ‘sanded floor’ people are the enemy.  They are of little consequence... except to themselves, of course.  That ‘they’ have closed out ‘hoard’.  Themselves.  “Sterile” visions is a ‘their best’.  No fifteen years of old seed packages for they have no (messy-self made) garden.  No hoard of shoes because the... accumulation... of their shoes are ‘too cheap’ (of quality and cost... in addition to, too, NOT being ‘Yankee footwear’) to be worthy of the title ‘hoard’.  It is a sad omen when one cannot even accomplish a hoard of shoes.  But that is the way those (“new New England”) people like it; sand the floors then varnish them.

            Admire them.