It’s that time of year again. It’s that time when I spend two days going through two-dozen garbage bags of seasonal clothes, tear down a hundred cardboard boxes, and sift through a garage full of crap just to get to the Christmas decorations. Every year I tell myself I’ll finally get around to cleaning and organizing the garage, but each year I’m a little older and have a little less energy and strength, and it doesn’t get done. And every year it’s a little harder to get to all those boxes that stand stacked against the back wall.
What I need is a shit-ton of those red and green plastic bins and a couple of people to help me. A new, younger body wouldn’t hurt, either. Oh, hell, I’ll just say it. If this were 1980 I’d just snort a line or two and do it all myself. But times have changed and I’m too old for that crap. Besides the legal and financial ramifications, I’d probably give myself a heart attack.
On Saturday evening we’re having our annual Christmas decorating party. Well, it’s not really a party as such. We just bribe people with sips and nibbles and they come over, listen to holiday music, help decorate, and we all have a merry old time.
Why doesn’t this logic work where cleaning the garage is concerned?
Yesterday, I raked all the leaves in the driveway and nearly did myself in. Don’t laugh. It’s an 80+ year old oak tree that drops literally thousands of leaves and houses a family of squirrels that drop their acorn debris everywhere. After the leaves are raked, cleaning up after them is like sweeping a pub where people toss their peanut shells all over the floor. It takes all afternoon to do this these days, and now I’m in bed with a sore back. Ironically, my bum knee is no worse for the wear. Thank goodness for that knee brace! I also wrapped some lights around the tree’s double trunks and fed the power cord under the leaves and into the garage. I’d like to do more today, but it’s not looking good. The front porch comes next and I still have the Halloween deckies to take out to the garage (they’re out of sight on the porch floor), but where the hell am I going to put them?
Can’t think about that right now; I feel like I’m standing at the foot of Mt. Everest without a coat.