Tales of the Garage
Thu., March 6, 11:22 AM
It’s snowing yet again. Boss Lawyer called this morning saying, “where’d this snow come from? We’re closed.” I’m not surprised at the closing, just at how early it came. I thought I wouldn’t bother going out at all – there have to be some perks to getting older – but then I remembered that I had to pick up a prescription for Husband.
At least there was space in the parking lot, which lost about a third of its spaces to piles of snow. I wasn’t in the drugstore long, but the car was covered when I came out. I was almost wishing I had an automatic garage door opener, but I was already wet, so what difference did it make? It’s still really not an issue.
Our house (Cheesebox) is on top of the garage. You can walk from the garage into the cellar – all above-ground – and then walk upstairs to the house. When we bought the Cheesebox, I was glad we had a garage, but I didn’t drive. My only responsibility, as I saw it, was to go downstairs and open the door when Husband was due to return. Before too long, he had stored so much stuff in the garage that he was parking outside anyhow. And when I finally began driving, some fifteen years later, he graciously parked at the side so that my car had plenty of room on the driveway.
We continued to keep the cars outside until Son graduated from high school. I had depended on him to clean the snow off my car, but he was off to college, and I wanted my garage. Husband’s stuff – which he never looked at, let alone used – was piled up to the ceiling. So Son and U.D. devised a plan.
U.D. ordered a dumpster – the largest one available. It was to be delivered after 8 on the designated morning – after Husband had left for work – and picked up again by 4:30, so he’d never see it. Son and Daughter spent the day throwing stuff into the dumpster. They didn’t empty the garage, but they managed to clear a space large enough to store my car. They filled the dumpster, which was duly removed before Husband got home.
Husband seldom went into the garage, because it was so crowded with junk. (Yes, it was junk, and if I weren’t a co-dependent, I would have thrown it out myself, and I should have.) It was three weeks before he even noticed it was gone. “There was good stuff in there,” he told U.D. “It was moldy,” she told him, “you couldn’t use it.”
When Husband began getting home before me (we’d both changed jobs), he used to come downstairs to open the door for me. I could do it myself, but it was cute. If he didn’t hear me drive up, I could toot the horn and he would come down. So when Son mentioned getting me an automatic opener, I pointed out that I didn’t need one.
Nowadays, Husband not only doesn’t come downstairs, but if he happens to be in the kitchen, which is directly over the garage, he’ll be back in his room by the time I get upstairs. Fortunately, I can still manage to open the door by myself.
On the other hand, since he never comes downstairs at all unless he’s going out – maybe once a month – I’m trying to throw away some of the junk that’s in the garage and basement. I feel like a traitor, because it’s one of those things that my mother did that I swore I’d never do. But, y’know, it’s half my house too. Gimme a break!
