My parents have become collectors. I know you are thinking what are they collecting? Coins, Comic Books, Figurines, or other fine things? I wish it was that simple. They have become collectors of shit. Just all kinds of shit they don’t throw away.  I used the word collectors because they aren’t hoarders.  They have become like some of those old ass people that don’t throw a damn thing away. I know I’m going to get in big trouble for writing this but maybe if they see themselves they will throw some shit away. Who am I kidding? They wouldn’t know what a blog was anyway but their damn grand kids, my kids will throw me under the bus.  (another term for rat me out, tell on me, snitch)

I was thinking back to the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s. Whenever my mom and I would pass a house that had junk lying around she would say “look at all that shit, they need their ass whip”. I couldn’t agree with her out loud because she probably would have slap the taste out my mouth. (Sidebar: my parents are African American and cussing wasn’t allowed, talking back wasn’t allow, let’s just go on record and say nothing was allowed) So in my head I would think hell yeah but my mouth would only verbalize they sure do.

Well fast forward to 2017. My nephew had a car accident. Mr (my husband) towed the car to my parent’s driveway and that’s where it’s final resting place has become. Get this, the whole front end of the car is torn off.  The car looks like somebody just took the whole mouth off  and the tongue is hanging out. The car still runs yall,  it’s a Lincoln car. Um hm you heard me. Here  is the scoop! My parents brought the car in excellent condition from our close friends who are elderly and didn’t drive it often.  The car was a realllly nice car. It now looks like it have hit everything but the three digit lottery. That’s because my nephew can’t drive worth of shit in the snow. I can’t tell you how many times he gotten that car hit. One side of the car looks like that car event when they keep crashing into each other. I never got the point of that crashing cars but I guess my nephew thought he had entered the Lincoln car into one of those contest. I think I will call the car Matar the car like the character from the Disney Movies Cars.  You know the rusty tow truck character,  but the car doesn’t have any rust on it.

Next thing I saw in the driveway is a damn door on top of the Matar car.  What the? Let me just say it. What the hell? Who the? Where the? Now keep this is mind. The whole neighborhood see this ever’day. My mom got her yard decorated for Christmas.   She is so proud of her angels but she should have put Christmas lights on Matar the car and that stupid ass door sitting on top of it because that’s the first thing that people see when they look over there.

We aren’t even going to talk about the garage. Well yes we will talk about the garage. It’s  the unofficial burial site for all broken appliances, furniture, curtain rods, etc.  What ever finally leave out the house goes to the garage or the jarage as my dad would say.  He can’t say pronounce the “ga” sound.  While I’m talking about him he pronounces my name Dtephanie, it’s only been 52 years and he still haven’t gotten my name right. Back to the jarage, there is the suitcase that my mom used when she first came to Flint in 1966? (I’m thinking about getting that down from the rafters and using it for a decorating project for my house).  I guess I shouldn’t talk too negatively about the contents of the garage because I have rescued a few items for decorating projects for myself.  One of them was my desk when I was a little girl.  I used to hate that ugly ass white provincial desk.  I love it now after I put the Dtephanie touch on it.

A couple of years back my mom had her house painted and she made the mistake of leaving the house and I knew she wasn’t coming home soon.  (Um hm, now this story she doesn’t know) There were a few items in her house that I didn’t like and I thought her life would be better without them.  I took it upon myself to remove those items. Two garbage bags full of items got removed and she never noticed it.

I know I am painting a picture of the house from Sanford and Sons but it’s not.  My parents house is beautifully decorated because she hired a professional interior designer, Me, Dtephanie  but she is my worst client and she doesn’t listen.  I picked out a beautiful color to paint her walls it had a hint of green undertones and she agreed to it.  The next day I showed her the color selection but made the mistake and said it was in the green family.  She didn’t want anything in the green because she had green color in the 60’s and she didn’t want green anymore.  REALLY? We went to my friend’s store to selection paint colors and I let my mom pick the color.  I suggested to my client/mom that we get a sample color to try on the wall.  She said no she picked this color and this is the color she wanted. When the painter applied the color to the wall my client/mom called. She said she hate the color.  I said good! You should have listened to me because people pay me for my advice and you get me for free and don’t listen.  I’m going to be honest I don’t like the color on her walls either.  I learned a lesson from this project and that is I need to get out of daughter role but I have been conditioned from being reared by an African American mom that she will slap the taste out my mouth. The results were a ugly ass wall color that you can’t tell the color is changed.

I know I am talking about my parents but I have to admit Mr says that I have the same trait.  I am getting better but being a creative person and whenever the inspiration sparks I can go and find whatever I need in my collection or my parent’s jarage.  Ok just forget I said anything about my parent’s jarage.  We are just going to rename their collection something fancy and hey maybe we can do a television show like the ones where people shop in other people’s collections.  Hey we are going to be rich.  I just love my parent’s collection well maybe not the Matar car and the door on top of it.

My youth desk

Chair from our living room growing up from my parents collection