The Heavenly Closet / Garages

 I call it the Heavenly Closet because it was built to last for eternity. It was really overbuilt, in my opinion. It had painted plywood sides, 2x4 framing, sliding doors, adjustable wire shelving and was really put together very nicely. The only problem with it was that it took up almost the entire back end of the garage and prevented me from driving a car all the way in. I agonized over whether or not to remove it. Would it serve a purpose? It obviously served a purpose for our sellers. Should I get new, smaller cars? No. So, it took me a day and a half at least to get the thing down. Wherever there was a place to put a screw, they put a screw. If they could hide a screw, they hid it. If they could hide a nail, they hid it. I used screwdrivers, both powered and manual, hammers, crow bars, a reciprocating saw and brute strength, but I finally got it down and the car fits in. My back and arms will never be the same, but the cars fit in.

I learned an interesting thing in my agonizing over the closet. Most people that we know in the Rochester area don't put their cars in the garage in the winter. I found that very puzzling, but I was told that the road salt is very hard on the garage floors. My son had a three car garage built next to his house in PA a couple of years ago and he confirmed this. Our new house had a large piece of indoor-outdoor carpet laid down in the garage and I guess I now know why. I know they had a large SUV which they never put in the garage, so maybe they had a small car that was compatible with the Heavenly Closet. I like the idea of storing my cars in a garage. Even on this latest trip, we were constantly brushing leaves off the windshield and the rest of the car that fell as it sat in the driveway. I will have to research the salt / garage floor issue since it seems somewhat defeatist to me to have to scrape ice and snow off your car all the cold winter long when you have a perfectly good building to store it in that you don't want to make into a family room. Someone probably makes some sort of coating for the floor for this purpose, or, maybe a piece of carpet is a good solution. I guess you change it every year or take it out and wash it off, preferably on your neighbors driveway.

Where Have All the Young Folks Gone?

We went to another funeral yesterday. My cousin Rosie's husband, Harry, died. He was seventy five. That's not real young, but it's not terribly old either. He had Parkinson's disease. He was diagnosed with it when he was forty nine, but you wouldn't have known it until later years. He was a quiet, gentle man. After the Mass, there was a luncheon at a nice restaurant. What was disturbing to me was the gray hair on my cousins' children. Some also had receding hairlines and children of their own, the eldest of whom were now preparing for college. I remember as a child romping around with my cousins, all of whom, except one, are older than me. My aunts and uncles were the older generation. We were the kids. I remember my cousins graduating from high school. I remember them getting married. Life moved on and we're clearly not the kids anymore. We have become the older generation, the old folks. When did this all happen? I don't remember it.

Sometimes I forget how old I am. When I was at the doctor's office a few weeks ago, I had to do some quick math to answer a standard inquiry as to "how old are you?" It turns out that I am a year older than I thought, so I don't think about it anymore. Age is nothing really but a number. Because you are a certain age doesn't mean that you can't do this or that. I still think I can do the things I did when I was twenty. Some I can do, a lot I can't. My body quickly lets me know which ones I can't. When I think about a number associated with my age, I think, "No, that can't be right. That number doesn't apply to me." Well, it does apply to me. Four of my nine cousins have now died and two husbands of the remaining ones are gone. They all had higher numbers than me, though. But where have all the young folks gone? They're still with us, but they are different people. They are the kids we used to be and we're not the kids anymore.