of mice, men, brooms, brushes and bisms

Behold a clean and empty garage… its contents transferred to a huge skip outside. All the chewed wallpaper, decorations, comfy golf bags, dropping covered debris. The bits and bobs that once were important, preserved in the garage for the next time of need. All ruined. The mice won. Until we killed them, that is.

In the end it wasn’t the droppings that did for me. It was the dumping, not of particular stuff, but of the hope and optimism with which Herself had moved to that house just over a dozen years ago. In her late fifties, with a busy social life, she bought a house with loads of space for us all to expand into. A big cosy kitchen to spend the time in. A utility to hide the practical. More space for style. A house to be filled with grandchildren.

We donned wellies, gloves and practical clothes. We lifted and carried and dumped. Nibbled lampshades and photographs. (Who keeps photographs in the garage?) Chewed through cardboard boxes of something. It all went. Spurs Fan even climbed the rotting ladder to clear gutters of their own private gardens. I brushed and brushed, until I thought I’d never be clean again.

Handsome Husband was baffled, “Why are you throwing away your mummy’s stuff? Well, it’s you doing it, it’s not my business… Why are you throwing away your mummy’s stuff?” That was just as much fun as it sounds.

We kept Jake well away from the garage and the hot press- it would be typical if the only thing the mouse traps ever caught was his nose.

Advertisements

16 thoughts on “of mice, men, brooms, brushes and bisms”

  1. Not an easy task, I remember doing something similar back in my younger life. It left me determined not to leave a load of clutter behind me for others to sort.

    Poor Jake. So many interesting sniffs and not being allowed near any of them.

    Congrats on making the Shortlist, fingers crossed for you for the next round.

    1. I hope it’s a long time before we need to clear the whole house; give me time to lose the emotion!

      The shortlist is still quite lengthy, isn’t it? I’m fully expecting to see you in the finalist list in the weeks to come 🙂

  2. Sadness, determination, stuff… my sister has photographs in her garage only we can’t find them they might be in the attic instead… if we ever could get in the garage… well done you

  3. Such mixed emotions- I looked first at the beautiful clean garage and felt jealous as ours is a state. But all your mammy’s stuff- what a bittersweet task for you. Bastard mice.

    1. Our own garage is like everyone’s- full to bursting with random rubbish. I’m hoping this experience might encourage us to get a skip for ourselves!

      Handsome Husband (with Alzheimer’s) lives in the house, so it will be a while before we need to do a final clear out- maybe by then I’ll be less melodramatic about it all 🙂

      Thank all gods for pizza and wine….

    1. I looked and looked in all the boxes I could bear to look in, and couldn’t find Santa! This gives me (false) hope that he’s hiding in a cupboard somewhere to be happened across in some months time. Either that, or he was chewed into mulch…

      1. Gasp! Chewed to bits! Naw Plastic Santa is tougher than that, he’d fought back to the tooth and tail.
        Maybe he was Santa snatched.

        Perhaps a short story or a long one in the future. Another Christmas classic.

  4. It’s not an easy task, physically or mentally. Well done for getting it done and out of the way. But it does remind me that I need to mount a search and rescue operation for some family photos that are apparently currently living in a relative’s garage. Yep, there are others unfortunately! 🙂

what do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s