Saturday, September 8, 2012

Day at the Museum

Mr. M. seems to save everything.

He lives alone.

His three bedroom home is packed full of stuff.

It's pretty cool to look around and take it all in.

He's only 9 years older than me, so it brings back a lot of memories: different types of clocks, stereos and turn-tables, records, 8-track and cassette players, different types of musical instruments, black and white and console TV's, etc..

It's all very well organized.

There's plenty of room to walk around.

I wouldn't use the word "hoarder" to describe it all.

"You sure have a lot of stuff in your home," was all I could think of saying.

"My father, before he died, always said my home as like a museum. I've always bought real good quality things and I've always tried to keep them in real good shape. I'm just not sure what will happen to it all when I die because I don't have any children."

"I'm not sure either but you have a lot of history in your home. There has to be collectors or museum curators out there who will really appreciate what you have accumulated here in your home."

"Your dad was right. Your home is a museum."

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