No Reasonable Offer Refused!

            My husband, Garth, is a pack rat.  Not just your ordinary hoarder of useless, out-of-date items, mind you, but king of his cluttered domain which includes left over high school paraphernalia and clothes from over 10 years and 80 pounds ago, tents without poles, dull drill bits, partial socket sets, a weight bench without weights, and all things mechanical.

            Several years ago, shortly after we got married, I petitioned to be able to park my car (ye gads!) in the garage.  Before this novel idea could be acted upon, we had to deal with the junk, for lack of a better word, that was cast in large, overflowing mountains on the floor.

             To that end, I suggested that we build some shelves.  So build we did, over 30 linear feet of floor-to-ceiling storage space in the form of sturdy shelving.  Over the next few weeks, we proceeded to load the vast majority of the crap- oh sorry- “valuable stuff” onto the shelves from the floor.  We had a section for camping stuff, a section for Costco stuff, a section for gardening stuff, a section for chainsaws, auto maintenance, old furniture, boat anchors, widgets, gazekeziods, bicycle wheels that were no longer round, doo-hickeys, deelibobs- you get the picture.

            Finally, the magic day arrived!  I actually got to use the remote garage door opener previously collecting dust on my vehicle’s sun visor to open the overhead door to the garage and pull my jeep into its shelter.  I reveled in the moment!

            Days and weeks crept past.  Slowly, after each project when tools and materials lay scattered along the periphery of the space, the garage became cluttered once again.  When questioning why we needed an old, cracked, wooden toboggan when we had never in my memory ever been sledding, the response was, “We just might need it someday.”  The same was true of the old (not antique, because that would imply quality) motor with the valves missing and oil dripping out, the 17 chainsaws (only three of which run), the coil of cable used to hoist old growth logs out of long forgotten valleys, and a myriad of other items.

            We were fighting a losing battle- there was no space to do anything in the garage because of all the stuff.  The shelves were full, and indeed unreachable, due to all the miscellany  piled in front.  Periodically, the sheer volume of stuff overwhelms even Garth, who then makes a halfhearted attempt to restore order, all without parting with a single thing.

            I haven’t been able to park inside for months.  I fear for my life, that an avalanche of debris will bury me alive when I search for the Christmas decorations this weekend.  I sometimes wish for a fire or a bulldozer to take it all. 

            Hey, do you know anyone who wants a nearly-new, slightly-used blue couch?  How about a cooler, minus the lid?  Or maybe half a box of rusty nails?  Cheap!