Cleaning the Garden Garage

I won't let her inside the house anymore to help us clean, but My Young Friend still wants to work. I'm using her energy and enthusiasm to tackle the outdoor projects I've been putting off forever.

This week, we tackled the third garage, the one most people use for their golf carts, the one TBG bequeathed to me as my Garden Garage, hoping to contain my clutter.  

Sadly for him, that was never going to be the case.  I'm capable of keeping things neat, but as my desk has proven over the years, maintaining that status is nigh on impossible.  The same was obviously going to be true of the Garden Garage.  

Once I was perforated and bending became more painful than it was worth, things deteriorated further.  I'd start out with great intentions, and return, my hip defeating my heart's desire.  Putting things anywhere other than the nearest clear(ish) surface was all I could manage.  

And so, I had piles and piles of piles on piles.  There were several containers of irrigation supplies, most hidden beneath empty bags of soil filled with the detritus of that day's project.  There were tools in need of repair, and tools I'd forgotten I owned, like this weed destroyer,  

a relic from the brief, early moment when I thought I'd be doing my own yard work. 

My Young Friend took everything out through the garage door, as I stood far away, working on the other end of the room.  She washed the floor while I organized the crap I'd collected.  Just stacking the plastic containers from plants installed long ago freed up half the patio.  After that, I was ruthless.

But.......

Yes, I was going to save the orange Eames rocker I rescued from G'ma's house.  Someone will replace the broken wooden support..... at some point.  The bike rack may be useful someday, no, I don't know what day, but I know I'll be glad that it sat on top of the wheelchairs and the walkers and the car seats in the corner next to The UV when that day comes.    

All those baskets and plastic shoe boxes will be repurposed.  I was too tired to move them out of the way for the picture.  The pretty box on the floor holds Grandma's Garden prizes and it, along with the pool noodle, was just too low down there for me to bend and grab.

There were some treasures, too, like this faucet handle I bought in Marin.

And then My Young Friend found this: 

My father took classes at Queens College for many, many years.  Mozart and Clouds and Shakespeare and, when we moved to California, a semester on Geology and Earthquakes wherein the professor reassured him that were The Big One to shake, our house, though moved to Sausalito from Tiburon, would still be standing on the ground beneath it.  

I spent a long time communing with Daddooooo, surrounded by his tools and his stories.  

It was, in a all, a lovely day. in Quarantine.