Today I did what I (and you, I’m sure) have done many, many times before. 

Looking for toothpaste in the bathroom cupboard, I found a thingamabob I had stuck there a few months ago that came with my new vacuum cleaner: a large rectangular piece of plastic with odd protuberances meant for storing the vacuum conveniently on a wall. And in this house, there was simply nowhere to put it where it would be useful and not an eyesore. 

I know we are never going to hang it on a wall. I determined to dump it in recycling.

The cupboard also held:

 Several sections of curtain rods. A misshapen barber’s apron to catch my hair when I trim it. The iron we have not used since we came here, though I proudly do have an ironing board. Somewhere. I think. 

A case of bamboo toilet paper and half of one of bamboo facial tissues; 

Costco-sized jars of vitamins and calcium, at least two each;

Several tubes of buy-two-get-one-free “body cream”; 

Even more of anti-aging lotions, all of which have failed to prevent me from aging, according to my knees, eyes and polyps;

Multiples of various over-the-counter remedies for stomach problems, colds, allergies, sleeplessness, sleepiness, sinus relief and arthritis remedies—folk and otherwise; 

Three different kinds of ointments, at least half of them expired. Of course, we have to hang onto them because of emergencies. For example, during a sudden snowstorm and blackout, some raccoons might escape from the storm into the bathroom cupboard and eat all the fresher and delicious smelling ointments in the cupboard. (These are not the brightest of raccoons.) Meanwhile, I am trying to cook dinner in the fireplace and manage to stub my little toe, crash into my husband and make him fall into the coffee table and scratch himself. Only an expired tube of antibiotic might prevent him from getting eyebrow gangrene; 

Old toothbrushes to scrub with, cans of scouring powders, dried-up sponges;

A toilet-fill valve I got when I thought the flushing mechanism was what was making the toilet run for so long. But the slowness was from the pathetic water pressure from our well, and short of a new well, nothing can be done about that;

Random parts to the bidets, which we may need someday if the current parts do something wacky;

Teflon plumbing tape; and

The cuckoo clock with a piece broken off, which resided in the house when we bought it seven years ago. At first we were charmed by it, but when we wound it up with its key, we found it chimed on the hour. Every hour, all 24 hours. Now it and its key sit unused.

It’s a pretty big cupboard.

I took the vacuum holder* out of the cupboard and looked at it.

My daughter introduced me to this vacuum model with a cordless handheld wand.

When I first saw hers leaning against her dining room wall, I thought it was a baby toy, because it’s purple and red and slightly iridescent gray plastic, and she has babies. The motor and fan housing on the top bulges out like an inflated flower, with gray puffy petals pearled with nubbins of purple plastic tucked in between each. 

It could easily have been an alien gun in “Star Trek” that shot rainbow colored nets over Captain Kirk, who by using his great brain and charms wiggles his way out of its grasp and then romances the alien who sees the error of her ways and becomes a diplomatic beacon and example to the rest of the universe...oh, sorry, got a bit off track there. 

The holder in my hand was not much prettier than the vacuum cleaner, and sadly lacking the red and purple. About a foot long and half as wide, with nooks for accessories and a small plastic rectangle that folded out at the bottom for support.

I looked at it a bit longer and then stuck it back into the overloaded cupboard.

Because you never know when you will need an unattractive, ungainly vacuum cleaner wall holder. 

*Refurbished items from the manufacturers’ website are much cheaper and completely legit, though mine came without all the attachments.