Wednesday, May 18, 2011


I'm junk blogging. It's a new term for writing while taking a break from cleaning the attic while the kids are at school.  I need to hurry and throw their crap away because soon they'll be out for good and the internal temperature in there will reach 150 degrees.  I must be careful, or they will come home and catch me red handed, telling me ""OH! I neeeeeeeed that!" or "OH! I was looking for that!" C will grab at a plastic horse with missing leg wrapped in pipe cleaners and Christmas ornaments like it is the Holy Grail. Covered with rainbow stickers of course.  We won't even mention poor Barbie. Who knows what she's been through, found naked with a bad haircut and and that eerie frozen smile. Even Ken can't help her now.

ruined Barbie cries for help

While immersed in all this stuff and fearing the film crew from Hoarders will arrive on my doorstep any moment, I am in awe of the things that have accumulated over the years. What alarms me most, is that this is not the initial clean out. This is what remains after previous attempts to de-junk. I have no logical explanation for this. I have tried, but I will never make it to the dreaded back corner of the attic.  I don't know what lurks in or behind the mysterious blue wooden trunk or the boxes stacked on top. I suspect baby clothes, bathroom tiles and some mouse poop . Or worse. Things that are ALIVE: Mice or bats. Or owls. Or skinks. A large skink came from there once, and ran under the bed. This was an experience one does not forget. Armed only with a pink hairbrush, I trapped it in a shoe box (which it barely fit in, it was so ENORMOUS) and I ran screaming down the stairs and outside as I hurled it into the woods. I knew it wouldn't come back. What reptile in it's right mind would want to go through that again?  I am in awe of my own bravery and I wish this was captured on You Tube, because no one but my kids believe me. ( thanks, kids)

SKINK- Warning: Reptilian objects appear larger in picture than actual size.
However, disgust to fear ratio is deadly accurate.
 It's not that I'm afraid to go there and finish the job, ( ok, yes I am, a little... ) it's just that I get sick of it all, overwhelmed by ALL THE THINGS. After a few hours of feeling proud and cleansed, with my Hefty bags of mangled toys on one side and my Goodwill piles on the other, the glow of victory begins to fade.  The smile and warm fuzzies I got from finding the little childhood treasures of my kids summer camp adventures and journals and discarded toys and tiny ballet slippers wears off. Memory lane morphs into Nightmare on Junkyard Street. What am I going to DO with all this?? There are some things you just can't throw away unless you have an ice maker for a heart - like things that were made for just for me or have handprints on them. Others items I keep because I am just being practical - after all, you never know when you might need an inflatable parrot and world globe with no stand and the calligraphy set some day, right?
Ok, back to work....
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