Several weeks ago we went through the process of revising our wills. As we talked about issues that will arise when one of us dies, I felt an overwhelming need to discuss the garage. When we bought our retirement home we had an informal agreement that I would have a sewing and quilting room and he would have a large, double garage with a workshop space.
I have since learned no garage, even one with a loft, is ever really big enough for a man who can't throw anything away. We need boxes of eight-track tapes, almost empty spray paint cans and strings of Christmas lights that don't work because..
.? Sadly, I have never been what my friend Bev Dell calls a "Becky Homeckie," a woman whose greatest joy is a spotless house and perfect piecrust.
Our home could pass inspection most days, but you can always find a bit of dust, a disorganized book shelf, and a couple of cups in the sink. I close the door to the sewing room on the theory that not everyone understands that chaos is the sign of a creative mind. The garage a few steps from my back door, however, would send a Becky Homeckie directly to the nearest marriage counselor and has reduced me to this unwifely ultimatum: "If you go first, your children have to clean up that mess, so warn them now.
" The truth is, none of us should expect the children to clean up our messes. Several years ago, our family experienced exactly that situation. An elderly aunt and uncle who lived in Kirkland spent many retirement years in a filthy home stacked high with wall-to-wall clutter.
It had not always been this way. When they were in their 50s and early 60s this home with its baby grand piano and formal dining room had been the site of lovely parties and musical evenings. Both were active in their community and church.
After selling their business and retiring, things gradually changed. He succumbed to fast-talking telephone scam artists and spent thousands of dollars on personalized pens, calendars, foam-rubber can holders, letter openers and other junk. Most of the time his purchases included promised bonuses of diamond rings, pendants, gold watches and other such gifts which were never as promised.
Boxes and boxes of this stuff lined the entryway, filled the basement and invaded even their bedroom. The guest room was stuffed with furnishings from her late mother's home. After 20 years of storage, there wasn't even a tiny path through.
The dining room table was piled with a literal mountain of unopened mail, some of it dating back several years. They ate meals at home off a cutting board pulled out from the counter top. Those meals usually consisted of tea, toast, oatmeal and ice cream.
They did, however, dine out a lot, which was a very good thing, considering the rest of their diet. They were childless, the nearest relatives, nephews, did not live nearby. When the relatives first attempted to intervene, they refused any kind of help.
Another year passed, the situation worsened and they finally accepted some help. Both, it turned out, were suffering from dementia and were incapable of changing their living conditions on their own. I know there are other families who've experience similar situations with elderly relatives.
Cleaning out someone else's clutter is even more painful than dealing with your own. Since life and aging don't come with guarantees, I've declared this spring the season of get rid of the clutter. There are many places where our surplus stuff could be useful: rummage sales that benefit local charities, Goodwill, and the senior center thrift store for starters.
I know what garage guy will say, "Why don't we have our own yard sale." I know this because it's what he said last year and the year before. We just never got around to actually doing it.
I'll start in the closets. The "nice" clothes I wore to work more than a decade ago rarely see use in a place where sweatshirts and jeans are standard apparel. The high heels definitely have to go.
They are dust magnets. The kitchen's lower cupboards have lids that don't match pans, scores of plastic dishes without lids. Do I really need seven stainless steel mixing bowls in assorted sizes?
You get the picture. Its just stuff, and we don't need it. As for the garage, I think a wife offering to help will be significant motivation for action.
He knows once my stuff is packed to go, his will be in jeopardy. My friend Bev's children have offered to come over from Seattle to clean out their father Mike's garage, which may be even worse than the one at our house. This caused Mike great consternation.
He and my husband have discussed this looming threat. As we grow older, there are so many things over which we have no control but kicking out the excess stuff is not one of them. So it is spring cleanup at our home.
.. and garage.
If someone calls me Becky Homeckie, I'll put on an apron and work on my piecrust. Linda Bryant Smith writes about life as a senior citizen and the issues that concern, annoy and often irritate the heck out of her now that she lives in a world where nothing is ever truly fixed but her income. You can e-mail her at .
