UGH

It's enough to make one wish for winter again.  It makes me long for the drifts piled up to one's chin with the temperature so low that no leaving creature dare venture forth.  Yes. I'm talking about winter.  What dreaded activity is almost enough to make me miss it? That's simple: yard work. We are having a very small and informal gathering for Casey's graduation on Friday.  That means kicking it into high gear and getting not only the house but the yard cleaned up. Kristie lives for this kind of stuff.  Her work ethic is indefatigable.  At least in the winter there isn't much to do other than shovel the walk occasionally and let the dogs out. But spring is a whole different story. To get us motivated (no easy objective), Kristie had lists for Casey, KoKo, and I. I was a grunt.  "Haul crap" was the first thing on my list.  That meant hauling crap out of our basement and over to the large trash receptacle Kristie rented for the occasion.  I was also part babysitter.  I believe Kristie said early on the first day of cleaning, "I wish I could send you and Kenzie somewhere so I can get some work done!"  We tend to get distracted.  I also tend to take my sweet time about things (don't blame me.  I got this from my dad and his slow southern ways).  I move in first gear . . . second, tops.  Kristie is in warp speed.  To wrap up my duties I was also a gopher . . . go for food and refreshments. Kristie took to weeding and raking like a woman possessed.  She goes after that stuff the way she goes after painting.  I believe she said, "Putting that first streak of paint on the wall is one of the greatest feelings."  Don't ask me.  She's funny like that. Then she helped clean out the garage and move crap out of the basement. Casey broke out of his funk at being up so early in the morning and having to do something and worked quite hard at mowing the lawn and cleaning out the garage and then organizing all of his furniture for his big move down to the cities this weekend. KoKo meanwhile took to cleaning and organizing the refrigerator and pantry.  Then she cleaned the porch. Mercifully, the onslaught of work ended around 6:30 last night. Our garage is now full of things that used to be stored in the basement or upstairs closet. Our basement is uncluttered and organized once again.  One big objective of this spring cleaning is the mythical 'garage' sale that KoKo and her grandmother have been plotting since the Clinton administration. Now, it seems the day has finally dawned. Of course, we are banning Gail from attending the garage sale, knowing full well that she will buy most of what we want to get rid of and horde it in her house.  That is another topic for another blog entry.  I wonder if I could sneak my camera in there one day and get some evidence . . . Actually, one of the fun things about the cleaning was hiding the things that we desparately wanted to get rid of that we knew Gail would never let us toss. "Hide that picture frame over there," Kristie said referring to a painting that Gail had bought KoKo.  It was a beautiful painting.  Or I should say it was a beautiful painting.  But the frame was cracked and the glass shattered. See, Gail is known to pick through the trash (something my dad did too) and retrieve items that one wants to discard. Gail's specialty with this is stuffed animals.  I believe Kristie tried tossing a stuffed animal only to find it days later magically residing at her mother's instead. So we were on the look out when we began trudging up two huge garbage bags full of stuffed animals that KoKo has garnered over the years.  There were also several plastic totes full. Kristie sat down to help KoKo discern which animals were to be sold and which were to be kept.  By this time Gail had meandered out with Kenzie.  Casey and I sat in on the selection process.  Casey and I advised KoKo to sell as many as possible while Gail would try and talk KoKo into keeping each and every - regardless how trivial or old or ripped to shreds or pissed on - stuffed animal. "Oh that one's cute.  Keep it," she said. "Gramma.  I got that in a Happy Meal," KoKo said tossing it into the 'sold' pile. "Well, it's cute," Gail said making a mental note of which one to buy when she sneaks into the garage sale. So began the process of KoKo selecting a stuffed animal from the mount of figures.  Then Casey and I would try to talk her into selling it ("How do you know another little child won't need it or appreciate it while you just store it in a tote" was our best argument), while Gail would talk her into keeping the item, no matter WHAT it was.  KoKo made the final decision while Kristie just watched the debate. Of course, KoKo is a little Gramma Gail herself.  The pile of actually 'sold' stuffed animals was dwarfed by the 'keep' pile.  I swear when KoKo gets old, she is going to have to have an entire room devoted to her stuffed animals.  (I know what you are saying . . . well, what about your Legos?  Well, I have stopped collecting them for the time being.  I mean we are running out of shelf space and my desk at school can only hold so many). Now to be fair, my father was the same way when it came to collecting junk. You can ask my sister and Kristie what it was like to rummage through Dad's shop and quonset packed FULL of crap that Dad horded or couldn't let go to the trash.  Trust me, Dad too has rummaged through the trash on several occasions. I remember him complaining about Barb and the girls cleaning out his kitchen and helping him reorganize.  To accentuate his frustration he began opening drawers and cupboard and complaining that he didn't know where anything was.  I couldn't help but notice how neatly organized and hung everything looked. Then he admitted, as he opened one drawer, that he was shocked at what they had tried (note the past tense of that verb) to get rid of. "Just look at what they wanted to throw out," Dad said as he opened to door to reveal the items he had personally retrieved from the garbage bags Barg and the girls had filled. I couldn't help but laugh, recalling a Denver Broncos hat a friend's bother had left in my car in 1990.  I tossed it in the garbage bin in the shop.  Soon, though, Dad had dug it out.  And there it sat on the shop bench for - oh - 16 years until Dad passed and we had to clean out the shop! And that was the very peak of the tip of the ice berg.  Dad had dozens of used plastic oil cans.  Dozens of mismatched shoes.  Books that would never be read.  Dozens of unmarked drum full of oil, gas, diesel, and kerosene.  Hundreds of rags . . . it was a mess. Now, I admit that I save quite a bit too.  But I can recognize the time when it comes to bid something farewell and let it go to the landfill. I can only hope that all of our stuff goes - not to Gail either - at our garage sale.  That way KoKo can start stocking up for the next one.