As we prepare for my mother's arrival, we have decided to purge our house of all of our junk.
And when I say "all of our junk," what I really mean is all of the stuff that Cheryl will let me throw away. Clearly, Cheryl's definition of junk is different than mine, but by any definition, we have a ton of junk. So much junk that we rented a dumpster... or can, as those of us in the dumpster business call them... that has been sitting in our driveway for more than three weeks.
It's kind of trashy looking... pardon the pun... but it is necessary.
I realized we had a problem about ten years ago when we finished our basement.
The basement used to be the dumping ground for all of our junk. It was out of sight and out of mind. I was the only one that ever went down there, and I never let on about how bad it was. In fact, I made a game of going down to the basement without letting my feet touch the floor as I hopped from junk to junk.
Then we decided to have the basement finished and needed to do something with all that stuff.
We rented a small can... as we in the dumpster biz like to call them... and filled it to capacity. Despite our best efforts, we still had heaps of junk. There was only one thing to do with it all.
At this point, I would like to take a moment of silence for my garage.
Thank you. Now I would like to say a few words about my old friend.
You were always there for me. You kept my car warm and safe and dry. I'd like to say that I loved my wife more, but I never like to lie. You're gone now... just a storage bin for the basement junk. It's not your fault though... we did it to you. We should be ashamed of ourselves. We can't pull the trigger and throw away our junk, so we just used you. We stuffed you and rendered you useless. Your doors were always open... inviting me into your bosom... even during the most horrible weather conditions. You asked for nothing in return. You were my friend... and I miss you.
So for a long time, the garage was our main junk holder... but certainly not the only junk holder in the house.
The junk seemed to magically expand.
It includes... but is not limited to... ungiven gifts, Christmas decorations, unopened mail, Grace and Matthew's diddly drawings and school projects, tax returns, Noah's very cool drawings and school projects, decade-old receipts, clothes, toys, games with missing pieces, and photos... lots and lots of photos.
And there is no rhyme or reason to what we find in each bin.
You would think that the tax returns would be with the tax papers, but you'd be wrong. I am not kidding when I say, I found tax returns, in the garage, in the same box as unused Labor Day Festival tickets and Nerf guns. The only explanation for the variety junk packs is that whenever we quickly clean up for a party, we come across various items that we don't quite have a place for. So we throw them in a bin and then stash that bin in the garage... so we can review it at a later date when we have more time!
We never have more time, so that date never comes.
And a byproduct of all the mismatched junk bins... you cannot comfortably toss anything without a full-out review. Unfortunately, I am completely incapable of this type of review due to a condition I describe as junk ADD. After three minutes, I am done!
Having said that... some bins are fun to go through... like the photo bins.
I just want to make an observation... I look good in a tux.
I mean, I look really good in a tux. I found two or three pictures of Cheryl and me at various formal functions over the years and was very happy with how good I looked. I looked so good that I made Noah run upstairs with the photos to show his mother and tell her that, as good as she looked in the photo... I looked better! Specifically, I told him to go tell his mother that she out-kicked her coverage!
There weren't many of those kinds of photos so I just wanted to revel in the fact that I looked better than she.
Some bins were not fun to go through, tho'... like... oh... let's see... the photo bins.
For a guy that looks so good in a tux, I generally don't look good in most other photos. And I found the worst school picture ever taken in the history of school pictures. I still remember that day. It was seventh grade, and I wore a blue turtleneck kind of shirt that was too tight. I was uncomfortable and apparently, unaware it was picture day. I must not have washed and/or combed my hair. I didn't smile, nor did I frown. The look on my face was kind of in between... a smown, if you will. You can't tell from the photo, but my lips were even chapped.
What a train wreck!
The only thing that could have made the photo worse was if I were wearing wire-framed glasses that were too big for my face. Oh, wait a second, I was wearing wire-framed glasses that were too big for my face!
And get this... that was the photo that was used for my Benjamin Tasker Tiger Junior High School ID card. Three years of staring at that stupid photo.
I kept that photo ID card. I cannot imagine why I kept it... but I did. Much like all of the other stupid things that we have kept over the years. Stuff that we acquired for some good reason... but never used. And then, prepping for parties time and again, we couldn't quite figure out where it went, much less why we ever acquired it in the first place... only to toss it in a bin and throw it into our garage!
So, the time has come.
The can, as we in the dumpster biz like to call them, is nearly full. We are going through the final bins and are days away from a clutter-free home.
We are almost ready for my mother to move in. In just a couple of weeks, she is coming... the house has to be prepared for her.
You know what else is coming with her? That's right, eighty-three years worth of her junk!
No problem, our garage will be clear.
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| ~ All dressed up... not a bad pic! ~ |
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| ~ Not too shabby, if I do say so myself ~ |
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| ~ Who put these two in charge of a household anyway? ~ |
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