The American Garage

Is it solely an American affliction or is it everywhere that garages have simply become a dumping ground for all the crap we are never going to use. Last time I checked the whole idea of having a garage is so we can have a place to park our cars. But like most beliefs I hold dear that is probably just another outdated concept. I have driven my neighborhood on a beautiful weather day and have seen a few that are as neat as a pin, although I admit those homes are becoming rare. Mostly they are just a sad state of affairs that are overstuffed and busting at the seams by people saving things they will never have any use for. Just exactly what causes that kind of affliction? I have one aging neighbor who seems to like collecting old newspapers. I have but one question; WHY? Has he somehow become convinced that tomorrow's news will be better than yesterday's or even today's? I have saved only one newspaper in my life; it came out the day after JFK was shot. I think that is self-explanatory. A few doors down to the south there is an old man who is restoring a 1950's model F-1. His garage floor is always covered in motor oil, beer cans, and kitty litter. Even though that appears to be fun on the surface we all know that is nothing more than the creation of work. Why would anyone who is not in the throes of retirement do that to themselves? It would appear to me that the former lady of the house just got sick of cleaning WD-40 off the living room rug and moved back in with her mother. Knowing that old cat, that may have been his goal all along.

The state of a man's garage is usually a reflection of his own life. If his garage is messy, his life is also messy. When my garage is messy, I find myself doing a lot of self-loathing. When it comes to this space something has gone horribly wrong in my life. I usually don't like to point fingers but in this case the problem begins and ends with my wife. Sorry, I'd love to candy-coat it but I'm afraid I cannot. My wife and her mother suffer from what I affectionately call "THE YARD SALE DISEASE." They are continually on the hunt for a diamond in the rough that would require a little spruce up, some paint, or just needs to be polished. In the end, the ultimate goal is make sure said decor ends up as decoration in my living room. Sadly, that never happens. Usually the item is purchased, it ends up in my garage with high hopes and aspirations; but after 6 months have passed, I start to see the light. This means that what started out as my wife's problem, by default, then becomes something I must either find a permanent out of the way place for or just spend the rest of my days walking around, or better yet tripping over. So, my wife and I have come up with some guidelines to live by. Or, I should say that I have made up some rules that I follow to the letter of the law and she just grumbles about. If it sets in the garage for more than 6 months, it goes to the dump. So, you see, such treasures don't just cost $5; you must also add in the $25 cost for me to take someone else's garbage to the landfill. I hope they appreciate my begrudged effort.

When this tender young thing I call my wife drags me to garage sales to examine other people's old crap, I really don't mind. But when I begrudgingly (by no fault of my own) become the owner of such garbage, I resent that. When she says things to me like "come on Tone, it will be quick, fun, and we can do it together." I am sad to announce that all of those statements are lies. She doesn't intend to lie about it, but she nevertheless does. She is not so much a liar as she is a person who has what I like to call "misguided intentions." This is to say that her intentions are that she will follow through, but 9 times out of 10 she does not. This just means that essentially the dust from one man's garage (by default) becomes my property, and I have no interest in that vocation. It's misguided at best and deluded at worst. It must be true what they say; marriage is an exercise in absurdity.