Meaner than a junkyard dog

So I was ranting to Lorien the other day and she pre- scribed blog therapy.


And here it is:

We are junk magnets at my house. There is something about us that just screams "White Trash" "Redneck" or "Your Junk Wanted Here!"

Now don't get me wrong. I love hand-me-downs. Particularly of the clothing or furniture variety. It's almost magical. I need shorts and some dress shirts for the boys. Corrine K or Olga S magically appear with--you guessed it--shorts and dress shirts for the boys.

In fact, Olga is sent from heaven, as is her sister, the rocket scientist. Until recently I have never had to purchase anything but socks and underwear for my daughter because inevitably just as I am ready to bite the bullet and drop a few too many Hamiltons (sorry, couldn't resist) for girl clothes, Aunt Arlene sends boxes of beautiful clothes--name brand and some with the labels still attached--for my L-. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

No, I am ranting about something else entirely. Junk. Just junk. People--and I mean perfectly nice people--show up at our house on a regular basis with pure unadulterated junk and ask,

"Do you have a warm bed and some food for this poor orphaned rusty piece of scrap metal?"

"Can you take in these old warped pieces of wood?"

"Can these random pieces of something-that-once-was-useful please stay with you for awhile?"

And inevitable the kind-hearted reply is

"Yes. We'd love to help out."

This phenomenon has been taking place since we were first married. It all began, benignly enough, with old furniture. Which we badly needed and appreciated.

In fact, when people used to ask us where we lived our reply was always,

"On the way to DI."

Because people would always call us and say,

"We're going to DI. Do you want us to drop off Great Aunt Bertha's BarcaLounger on our way?"

And we'd quickly make a spot for Great Aunt Bertha's BarcaLounger in the house.

We didn't actually buy our first piece of furniture till we'd been married about eight years. How do you like that? Even then, to this day, all we've ever actually purchased by way of furniture is one sofa, one fridge, and a book shelf or two. Oh, and one of those air mattresses that now has a hole in it.

It's just the junk building supplies I really object to. Oh, and the old appliances. Is there a reason we have an old green refrigerator sitting on our side patio?

The results are piles of stuff leaning up against the side of the house. Now it's slowly winding its way around to the back. Let's not get started on the garage.

Some of it is good stuff. We do have a couple of pieces of decent furniture and some nice headboards. We really might need those. Someday.

But most of it is just junk. And I don't want it. I'll never use it. And I'm tired of looking at it, tripping over it, and wondering "Why us?"

Here is a partial inventory:

*Three used pools of various and sundry shape and volume and reason for extinction
*Enough scraps of wood (also of various and sundry shapes and sizes) to build a Shantytown Provo. Or two...
*Two used BBQ grills. With parts for at least three more. One works, but it's missing a wheel. An attachment from one left recently left its imprint in the bottom of my foot.
*Lots of lost and beat up chairs handed down from an elementary school.
*An old olive green--or was it almond brown--refrigerator.
*Parts from three bent-wood rockers in various stages of demise.
*And old bassinet that legend says my dad made with his bare hands. Now weathered from the outdoor exposure of another Utah winter.
*There was a nice stack of old logs and a bed frame. But the giver of that treasure actually came and took it back. Go figure.
*At least three or four rusty bikes that don't work. Except in emergencies.
and the list goes on...

So last Saturday I went a bit postal on the kids and made a valiant attempt to purge the junk. I swore not a child in the house would have another meal until the back deck and the back yard were cleaned up. Aside from scaring our newly-wed neighbors--who don't have kids yet, obviously--I didn't accomplish much. We did fill up the trash bucket twice and the back of our old pick-up. The deck is clean. Well, mostly clean. (Or it was until my daughter decided to take advantage of something horizontal at my house that wasn't heaped with junk and build a fort.) As is the most of the backyard. But it seems we hardly made a dent in the pile of junk. It's still a veritable mountain!

Rrrrrrrring. Ring.

"Hello?"

"My friend just tore down her barn. Could you possibly make room for some beautiful old barn wood that has fallen on hard times?"