This story starts in the summer of 2009 right after Mom died. Abby and I arrive at home in Mom’s car, which Abby and I packed so tight with Mom’s stuff that, according to Abby when we left Florida, “You couldn’t get a dime in that back seat.”
We spent three days on the road and had a great time together. Despite our best packing efforts, when we unloaded the car we found that the jar of marbles my parents collected had shattered. Fortunately it was in a Wal Mart sack, so we dumped the whole thing into an aluminum baking pan, and Abby promised that one day she would pick out the broken glass and put the marbles in a new jar.
Flash forward to this winter. With Mom’s passing in 2009, Abby’s dad’s passing in April 2010, and our adoptive mother-in-law Dorothy’s move from her home on the other end of the pasture to assisted living, and many of their belongings passing to us, the garage was full.
How full was it? You couldn’t raise veal in it.
Recently I decided that cleaning and maintaining our firearms would be better done in the garage, and Abby expressed an interest in having a workbench area, but both looked impossible in the pile of storage bins and other items piled chaotically in that space.
Recently, though, we had a run of sunny days, though cold, and I got to my wits end trying to find an open space for, well, anything, so I dug in. And though Abby’s health doesn’t tolerate the cold well, she helped when she could, and though we are in the middle of this multi-phase project, it is coming along nicely.
I even picked the broken glass out of the marbles, washed them and put them in a new jar.
The gun bench is entirely usable as such, and tools that once languished in old ammo crates are no hanging on the walls. There is much to do, but I am optimistic about it, and kind of enjoying being out there.