As Time Goes By

Trash, Treasures, and Toys in the Attic

Why should you read something about cleaning out an attic?  Unless you enjoy all those Facebook posts people make about their trips to Wal-Mart and cleaning their ovens, there probably is no reason to read on.  However, if you can bear with me there is some degree of payback at the end.

I don’t know what possessed me to allow my wife to talk me in to cleaning out the attic.  I really love her very much but jeez we been putting stuff up there nonstop since 1987.  However after a couple of glasses of Montepulciano I nodded or mumbled or at least did not protest the suggestion (so she says).

On New Year’s Eve (which should tell you what an exciting couple we have become) with some trepidation, I pulled down the disappearing stairway and climbed literally in to the dark at the top of the stairs.  We are very fortunate in that when we built the house we completely floored the attic so at least I did not have to worry about balancing my 63-year-old body on beams and worrying about sticking my leg through the second floor ceiling.  In fact that act of “breaking through had determined where I would put a ceiling fan in a house we owned in North Carolina years ago.

We climbed in to this upper abyss, cut on the overhead light and my wife said, “OMG”, only without the abbreviations.  My thought was: “I’m glad North Carolina played last night because I can kiss the other bowl games goodbye.”  What lay before us was 24 years of accumulation with no rhyme or reason as to what was what.  I hoped my wife would see that this was an impossible task but in her orderly mind it was only one more challenge to bring order out of chaos.  In this area I have been her lifelong project.

As we waded through boxes, bags and footlockers it soon came apparent that one man’s treasure was another woman’s junk.  Consider the following conversation:

WIFE: “What in the world is this?” holding up a beleaguered, hole riddled faded blue tee shirt.

ME: “Why, that is an Ehringhaus A intramural jersey I wore in numerous intramural wars while I was at UNC.”

WIFE: “Okay, so trash it right?”

ME: “Trash! Trash! Woman, have you lost your mind?  That jersey represents my glory days as an amateur athlete and defined me as a man.”

WIFE: “Well, in my opinion, you are twice the man now that you were then.”

ME (swelling with pride): “So I am still a stud in your eyes even after all these years.”

WIFE (Staring contemptuously at my belly): “No I mean you are about double the size you were then.”

ME: “Right, trash it.”

It soon became apparent that anything pre-wife was trash and anything that had touched or come close to coming in contact with our children was sacrosanct.  As irreverent as I may appear to be about the whole project, I have to admit we both enjoyed reliving our children’s younger days through Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Barbie Dolls, and Transformers; sports trophies, academic trophies, and music awards.  It reminded both of us of how lucky in life we had been with the precious memories of three wonderful children that are now grown, responsible adults.  I think parenting is the hardest job in the world but one that I miss horribly.  I sometimes think I know how Peter Pan felt once Wendy and the Lost Boys had flown back home.  Our children have grown in to our best friends but at certain times like Christmas, birthdays and baseball season, I really miss the child in our children.  If you are a young parent, count each of these precious days and be forewarned that the door to childhood slams shut with no prior notice.  One day they are playing with dolls and superheroes and literally the next day it is gone as if it never happened.

Well, as to the payoff for reading this tripe.  In the midst organizing all this chaos, Nancy, my wife, was going through an old cardboard box.  I heard her say, “What’s this?”  She held up a small 3 X 5 sheet of paper and handed it to me.  I looked at the sheet and was blown away because on it was a note that had been written to me when I was in San Francisco, by a girl from San Jose State University…..in 1968.

And that my friends is a story for another day,

As Time Goes By

P.S.  January 3 and I’m still working in the attic.