I heard a statistic the other day either at work or on Facebook or one of those news feeds that continually populates my phone screen.
The stat was that 25% of the families who own houses with two car garages in America have to park outside because they use their garages for storage.
My mind cast itself out to my garage which has long since been a workshop for my old radios (which are stored there, too), and a repository for odd pieces of furniture that wandered to our house over the years. Mama’s old Singer sewing machine is parked in there as well. The tables make dandy workbenches for the carpentry projects which are also carried out in the garage. There’s a table saw in there too, somewhere.
The stat was that 25% of the families who own houses with two car garages in America have to park outside because they use their garages for storage.
And, of course, some of my finished carpentry projects take up space in the garage as well. There are also cabinets for Christmas decorations, assorted light bulbs, a stash of unsold DVDs of my television stories, and books of all sorts. If you look, you can probably find some National Geographic magazines inside too.
Our garage houses things we picked up at flea markets years ago because Grandma had one of them when I was a kid. My record collection is also inside the garage.
I feel like I may have turned a corner with my compulsion for vinyl. A friend called the other day and told me one of her neighbors was getting rid of their father’s old stash of LPs and 45s, and they offered them to her. But she’s already cleaned out her stuff. I got her Daddy’s tape recorder that he had used to record a weekly radio program of organ music. I don’t know who got the organ. Anyway, she asked if I wanted the records. I surprised myself when I told her no.
Not that I didn’t want them. But I would have had to build another set of shelves on which to house them. And lately, I can’t find my table saw. I know roughly which part of the garage it’s in; I think.
Now, some people might consider all of this stuff in my garage as just clutter, and I suppose it is. But it is something else, too.
At the Bentonia Blues Festival recently I was talking to Jackson bluesman Bobby Rush. He is 91. He told me that he has been performing at least 200 concerts a year for the last 50 years. This year will be no exception. How does he keep going? He said his secret is this — you must have a reason to get up every morning. He said he has plenty!
Well, in that case, my garage has provided me decades of reasons to get up every day — cleaning, sorting, throwing away, and collecting more stuff.
Plus, I have to find that table saw!
