losing weight
Nothing makes me want to live in an eight hundred square foot sparsely furnished house (boat) like a couple days visiting my parents.Today I cleaned out the garage. And by “garage,” I mean “enormous tangled heap of four decades of stuff surrounded by musty walls.” Luckily I just spent three weeks gutting houses in New Orleans, so the task – particularly in the distinctly fall weather – seemed downright inviting. Not to mention it’s the only non-shopping-themed diversion available in suburbia.
My parents have just enough post-depression-era-upbringing in them that they save mason jars and broken plant pots, and just enough liberal environmental guilt in them that they save gift boxes and paper bags. But the rest of them is affluent professional boomer through and through, so they’d never dream of actually reusing any of these things. They just put them in the garage.
So Philadelphia’s (undoubtedly unpopular) country music radio station and I spent five hours out there, organizing and consolidating and sorting and most of all disposing. I threw out a greater volume of material from my parents’ Pennsylvania garage than I myself own in Oregon. I threw out styrofoam packing peanuts and obsolete electronics and a big scary box of assorted household death chemicals.
Mmmmm, assorted household death chemicals.
And tomorrow morning Ty and I will drive four hours north to Bellefonte, and I will turn up the radio and sing loudly, and Ty will make his scrunched-brow small-smile face that says I don’t know how I ended up in a moving vehicle with such an off-key crazy person, but I feel I may regret it. (Ty makes variations of this face a lot.) And the weight of all this stuff will fly out the open window and scatter across the road and blow away.
posted by tortaluga @ 11:07 PM
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