Everything is Junk

I caught the end of a terrifying reality program the other day: people were being 'assisted' in clearing their homes of all their lovingly hoarded junk! Some of them were going to sell bits and pieces of furniture and bric-a-brac so that they could 'see a mental health professional'. Relatives stood by, weeping with relief as the ex-hoarders stood, spiritually naked, in their empty basements. My heart went out to them.

A cool, sunny day in early autumn after a week of rain. The baby is wrapping her dad's dirty sock around her neck and saying 'nice'. Time to put on a wash. I wondered why the house smells of fish and then remembered - I'm cooking up a pot of native grasses and seaweed to make paper.