Cleaning the Garage

Finally, a good day for Cleaning the Garage!

It’s that time of the year again, and one we all truly hate, . . . sort

through all the priceless junk in the garage.

I hope I have the courage to trash some of it. Hey, it’s hard

throwing away stuff that reminds me of the person I used to be,

but unfortunately, I need the space for the really awesome new

junk I just bought.

It’s a necessary evil that must be done.

Be brave. You can do this!

Wearing old clothes is trendy!

I opened the door and peered into the abyss know as, ‘the garage

from hell’ and fearlessly stared at the graveyard of ‘I can’t throw

that away’, and the boxes of good intentions and ridiculous

projects that I promised I would do, eventually. 

But the garage is a mess and the car is barely squeezing in.

Cobwebs, stacks of boxes, piles of bags, and a workbench

covered with objects that shout, “What in the world possessed

you to save that.”

Despite my desire to be somewhere else, I reluctantly entered. I

quietly walked toward the wall of boxes on the left. Fearing I

might wake the demons that are sleeping inside, I gently grabbed

the smallest box on top, opened it, and timidly peered inside.

“Ahhh! I remember this stuff!”

It was filled old love letters from my High School girlfriends. Do not start reading them! Trash before the wife finds them!

I grabbed the next box. It was labeled, ‘Magazines with Great Garden Ideas’. I ain’t gonna open that because what’s inside is pure evil. The next box was marked, ‘Good Times’. This box I’ll open. Hmm, empty bottles of rum. If they could talk, the stories would be worthy of a future memoir to be written. Nah, no one would read it – trash.

Time to tackle the box filled with all my trophies and great accomplishments. I’ll just remark this box as: ‘Things to go into my mausoleum’, along with the box of my old military uniforms.

Golf Clubs! Um, I might play again someday.

Yikes, a box labeled: Captured monsters who hid under my bed. DO NOT OPEN! 

On to the pile of bags!

Hmm, T-shirts I just had to have. Save; I’ll use them as rags. A small bag of pennies. Give to the Grandkids. A bag of old newspapers. Trash. A bag of miscellaneous Christmas light bulbs. Trash. A bag of old Christmas cards. Trash. A bag of postcards from all the places I went. Save for mausoleum. A bag of coupons from the eighties. Trash.

Finally, I can see the shelves!

A jar of leftover nuts and bolts. Save. A jar of rubber washers. Save.

My old train set! I wonder if the wife will let me set this up in the spare room. I doubt it. Save for mausoleum. Old cans of paint. Yuk! Trash. Fishing rods and tackle box; I haven’t gone fishing in over ten years. Trash. Commodore-64 computer. Trash. A stack of empty coffee cans – save and use them for the nuts and bolts and rubber washers and the rest will be good for future small stuff.

I then glanced over at the right side of the garage.

Spare tire from my 1979 Chevy. Save. 4 broken BB-guns. Trash. Why do I have 4 ladders, 9 snow shovels, 5 rakes, 17 umbrellas, a stack of brown paper bags, 36 pairs of the wife’s old running shoes, 16 extension cords, 12 coolers, 2 broken chairs, 3 artificial Christmas trees, and 14 different sized pipe wrenches hanging on the wall. UGH!

On to the work bench. Nope, not going to touch anything on it, because I know, scattered somewhere amid the junk, there is a great idea just patiently waiting for me to promise I’ll do it tomorrow.

Whew! Time for a break. Maybe next week, I’ll clean out my

office, . . . doubtful.

“Mr. Kafka.”

“Yes, jimmy?”

“You didn’t trash any of it. You just restacked everything.”

“I just couldn’t do it. The memories. The great ideas.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Mr. Kafka, you’re a coward.”

“Hey, at least now it looks organized.”

“Whatever, I’m exhausted. Time for a nap.”

“Good idea, jimmy. I’ll join you.”

-jk-