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A massive change is coming to our household. We’re moving my tiny, 96-year-old, phenomenal, dementia-ridden mother-in-law into our home, and preparing accommodations for her beloved aide.
My wife and I have completely reconfigured our home. This job is like trying to solve a giant Rubik’s Cube with furniture and appliances as the colored squares. At one point, we realized the garage would have to be cleared out to temporarily accommodate some of the bigger pieces.
So I cleared the garage. I just took a deep breath and dealt with the nearest object — A reusable grocery bag full of ancient artifacts from a car we no longer own — the instruction manual for an orange juicer, calcified packet of gum, a leash, lip balm, maps (remember maps?). Anyway. I cleared out the garage.
Doing this felt great once I got into it. I scanned the upper shelves. Got on a ladder and really looked. I had to pause just to do the math on some of it. 1998? How long ago is that? That’s a marriage and a half ago! It’s almost a third of my life ago. It’s five homes ago. I had a box of business records from five homes ago.
Here are some of the things that went through my mind:
- Bafflement. Why did I lug this box (and the…
