The Pile

 

I remember when I was a kid, my grandparents basement was jam packed full of things. A whole lot of things. Old newspapers, old tools, old venetian blinds, old coffee cans filled with other old things. There were narrow aisles between the piles of old things so that you could access more old things. I found a lot of that old crap fascinating, but most of it was just junk. Oh, and Grandpa also hid his liquor down there, up in the rafters. He told me not to tell my Grandma Mae. I never did.

I still like old things, but I don't care for clutter. Mark loved clutter. Actually, he liked shopping and never stopped. He would buy two, three, and more of the same thing. Mostly gadgets for the kitchen, but sometimes things for me. Like the rug shampoo machine that is still sitting in the dining room... unused. As sick as he was last year, he kept shopping. All day long he would watch the QVC shopping network, stopping only to watch Judge Judy at four in the afternoon. I never saw him call in, but packages were still arriving days after he passed away. Most of that stuff is now in a large pile in my basement. I had planned to have a garage sale in the spring, but it's now summer. I look at that pile and shudder. So much work to go through it all, price it, and then schlep it on up to the garage. The garage that now houses my 1929 Ford. I told you, I like old things.