The Purge

It's time. Actually, it's begun. Before it's over all spaces will fall victim regardless of size (from furnace room to wallet), nature (from pantry to deck storage box) or status (Grosse Pointe man cave to Greenbush shed). Nor will our three current vehicles escape scrutiny. After all, I've been planning The Purge for a very long time.

Of course, I'm not referring to the simple tidying up of storage areas by doing a little straightening, dusting and perhaps bagging up the odd item for Purple Heart. That's for wimps. I'm talking about the systematic location, examination, and disposition of every item in every storage space over which I reign. A tsunami of reorganization. There are demons lurking in the shadows of most storage areas (or bins, as we professionals refer to them), and they require serious measures.  I'm referring to old memories, unfinished projects, perfectly good items that you have recently repurchased because you forgot you had one, and other things you swear you've never seen before in your entire life.

So to paraphrase Dire Straits, why risk running these red lights on Memory Lane? I have to. It's either that or look for a bigger house. For 26 years now, all manner of things have been coming in through the front and back doors of my home. They have entered brazenly, brought in by large men with hand trucks. They have slipped in clandestinely, in a backpack or seemingly innocuous shopping bag. But they have kept coming, relentlessly, and all demanding - space.

The addition of Wiser times to the family holdings did appear for a time as the solution to the problem.  Indeed, many of you may have been caught up in the "woosh" when the contents of our Grosse Pointe garage and basement roared up I-75 to Greenbush on Friday of Memorial Day weekend in 2005. But the relief was only temporary, as Wiser Times turned out to also have doors that constantly suck in new possessions from local merchants. So The Purge was only postponed.

Those of you who have visited either of our homes have no doubt concluded that I have more than a pedestrian understanding of the art of shelving and fitting a lot into any given space, whether it be furniture, old movies, electronic components or toys from the previous generation (known in family circles as The Museum). So the problem of having enough space for my stuff is not because I haven't tried. My abodes have simply reached the point where if something comes in, something has to depart. My hope was that I could last through temporary measures until retirement blessed me with the time to conduct The Purge, and put the problem of storage behind me for many years. My ship has come in.

On the surface all this may appear to be about the space, but as hinted above, it's not. Space is just the medium within which the struggle unfolds. The Purge is really about the stuff occupying the space. And for each item it's a matter of life or death (or more accurately, life or curb). Will a lost treasure be rediscovered and placed back into service, repurposed for yet another period of utility in the light of day? Will a beloved heirloom without current relevance be saved for possible future use (or a future generation) because it is too dear to be parted with (or your Bride has instructed you accordingly)? Or will the hammer finally fall on a relic for which no current or future job can be conceived, resulting in a trip down The Concrete Mile to - The Curb? (Well, maybe not quite a mile. More like 100 feet.)

Digging in the past is not for the faint of heart. But my methods are precise (surgical, some might say), thorough (I told you about OCD in an earlier post, right?) and I'm pumped. So the party has begun. I'll keep you posted on interesting finds and developments as the adventure continues. And if you're curious, and in need, I do hire out.  I work for food and Bud Lite.