Personal Time Capsule

My garage is a living time capsule. It contains no cars, only forensic evidence of our last 18 years here in this house.

My garage is a classic. It was built in 1974. It has no fancy drywall walls or ceiling, and no fancy lights. Bare light bulbs barely illuminate a musty 24X24 collection of tools, Christmas decorations, abandoned projects, and junk.

I ventured into the bowels of my garage this afternoon. Deeper and deeper I ventured to visit some stuff I hadn’t seen in six years.

I have bags of stuff from stores that have long since gone bankrupt, or have long been out of business, for projects that I never started or never finished. Funny thing is that I can remember buying about each bagful of stuff and it brings back memories.

I was digging through a tool box and it reminded me of digging through my father’s toolbox. Same smells, same dirt, same grease.

I have pesticides, paint, oil, gasoline, and other deadly things. There is actually some stuff in the rafters from the people who lived here before us. There are mowers, chainsaws, weed eaters, blowers, rakes, shovels, ladders, camping stuff, golf stuff, fishing stuff, my father’s golf clubs from the 1970’s, Boy Scout stuff from my childhood, bikes, lawn chairs, a table saw that I never finished putting together, and cabinets and boxes full of who knows what.

I could really use that space for some new junk. I have promised Gigi for years that I will clean out this stuff, but I haven’t.