Rationalizing Ratios

We just spent the past 48 hours helping my mother-in-law move house. The senior Ms. F. is a wonderful, sweet woman with severe pack rat tendencies. Among the stranger things we moved were a large piece of smoked plexiglass that used to be the door to something, eight full bottles of propane (with accompanying lamp and stove), a circa-1984 microwave oven, an ab roller, and a large piece of sheep skin.

More significantly, we moved a three-seater couch, two wing-back leather chairs, two cane-backed chairs, a chrome stool, two lawn chairs, one random unmatched black leather chair with wooden legs, and a new brown leather reclining chair, and two desk chairs with wheels. Thankfully we convinced her to give away an additional four white moulded-plastic chairs that she proclaimed were "great for when the kiddies (what kiddies?) visit -- all you have to do is hose them down if they spill anything!"

She is one woman living alone. That's a ratio of eighteen places to park a butt -- and only one butt living there. Now the ratio is 14:1.

Upon reflection, I note that our ratio is somewhere around 18 chairs for 2 people, or 9:1 if you use that fancy new math. This includes a couch and a love seat, but not the car or bicycles.

We have a lot of stuff. People have a lot of stuff, and many of us hate to part with any of it for various reasons -- sentimental ones, practical ones, frugal ones. Somewhere along the way, humans have become collectors of material goods. We want more, and more, and more. We certainly don't need it, and I'm beginning to feel like this is a wasteful and indulgent state of being. Something must be done -- what, I don't know, but whatever it is, it doesn't include my shoe collection.