Boxes, bags, containers (is there anything beyond a box or a bag?) abound. Loose stuff goes into a container at some point, only to come out again. This time, I bought more smaller plastic bags for jewelry…the endless pieces of costume jewelry. Each piece must have been that shiny bauble that captivated. Like gold coins tucked away and fondled now and then…my Aunt loved her shiny, costume jewelry. Thousands of pieces (this is the fourth time I have bought plastic bags and I will have to buy them again I am sure).
The patterns emerge of what was held valuable, what was hoarded for pleasure.
In the end, you are dealing with containers of one sort or another as much as the loose stuff of a hoarder. My Mom was into bags. My Aunt was into boxes. One lends itself to stacking and the other leads to cascading mountains of stuff.