It's Not a Job, It's a Career

It takes a lot of time to get nothing done.
I thought I was going to clean the garage today. During cold,wet weather, I often drop stuff in any empty place in the garage always intending to put it where it belongs later. Today was going to be later.
Turns out, eight months of later takes more than two hours of now.
Not that it's all my fault. I'm willing to throw stuff away that I can't identify or that is rusty, broken, outdated, or that while perfectly good, will never be needed or used by us again. Jerry looks at thing differently with the inexplicable logic that it's perfectly good. Or you can't throw it away until you replace it. He is the main reason I have to repack forty year old motor cycle suits, find a way to stack old turn tables, speakers, tape decks as well as the records and tapes that go with them, and store old computer programs and peripherals- although I've never even asked him about his reasons on that one. Nostalgia?
It's hard enough finding places to put Jerry's flotsam. Now Ryanne has joined in. Yesterday I mentioned that I was going to clean out her room. She did not agree to let go of even infant toys.
Why? Her first answer was 'memories' which although cute, didn't hold water. I told her that memories were in her brain. Her dad suggested she take a picture of things she wanted to remember.
That didn't stop her. Her next reason was that she wanted to save them to pass on to her children. It's nice to see a nine year old planning for the future, but I think she knows that argument won't stop me either. She's coming over this afternoon so I expect her next line of defense- she's done it in the past- is to take out every toy she has ever owned and 'play' with it to prove that it is too important to go. She will eventually win because she has Jerry on her side.
But I did get cobwebs and dust out of one corner of the garage today. Since tomorrow is garbage day, who knows what valuable possession might find its way to the curb before Jerry gets up. Those motorcycle suits are starting to mold.
Nancy Sherer