This spring I will be doing a lot of work around the house for my parents. One of the tasks they've requested I take on is that of cleaning out their basement.
I'm excited about this. It is a magical mess of a place, with boxes haphazardly stacked under the stairs and in a dungeon-like storage room. My parents are the type who have a hard time getting rid of anything--my mom can be sentimental, but my dad is something else. He has always been of the opinion that just because you don't want something right now doesn't mean you won't want it later. He's not bad enough for an episode of Hoarders or anything, but he sometimes saves sugar bags, jars and broken appliances, and if he possesses organizational skills, they're understood only by him. It drives my mom mad because if she ever needs to get something out of storage, it takes a day to figure out where he's tucked it away. But I enjoy it. It's like a junk store treasure hunt. The other day I was trying to help Mom find some old school photos. We didn't find them, but I did luck into a box of books that were Mom's when she was a kid. I collect vintage books, especially the spooky ones, as that's the sort of thing I read when I was little. It's what my mom read, too.
I'm looking forward to what more extensive digging will uncover.
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