Well, the Gumbo has been eaten. I ended up making some Mac and Cheese along with some black eyed peas for Mom. We enjoyed it all. But now it is time to start doing the real work. Mom and Dad really want my garage cleaned. In fact they want it cleaned so badly that they are willing to join in on the work. I cannot think of a worse job to do. But I guess in another hour or so I will be in the garage moving and organizing things.
I have never really felt that keeping the garage clean was a necessity, as any of you who have seen my garage can attest. As far as I am concerned it is a storage / trash holding area. No more. My parents treat their garage like another room in the house. Most of the time you could eat off of their garage floor if the need arose. They are the people who paint their garage floor. When you buy a house with a garage floor that has been painted and you wonder "who does that?" it is people like my parents. Dad builds storage systems for their garage so that everything has a place in their garage.
When I was growing up he always had a workbench in the garage. It was kind of his space. We were supposed to respect his space and stay away from his workbench. On the workbench each tool had a home. If stuff was ever out of place, it did not go well. All of us would be questioned as though a bar of gold had gone missing from Fort Knox. He knew exactly where everything was when he left it and if you were not telling the truth 100% he could tell. He would have made a great prosecuting attorney in any "workbench" legal case.
Once when we lived in Bay City, Dad's tools kept going missing and reappearing. Robbie was at SFA then so he was in the clear. I was going to WCJC and as a teenage girl didn't really have much reason to mess with Dad's workbench so I was in the clear. But Ronnie worked on a rice farm after school and was always working on his truck when he was at home. So he was Dad's #1 suspect. For days Dad questioned Ronnie as tools disappeared and reappeared in a different place. They would be moved from the workbench to the floor or between the workbench and the water heater. Dad couldn't figure out why Ronnie wouldn't just put them back where he got them if he was going to use them. Stuff was also getting knocked off all of the shelves in the garage. We also were hearing noise in the attic.
I think at some point someone walked out into the garage and saw an animal scurrying around and we figured that there must be a squirrel or something in the attic that was coming and going through the garage. So, Dad and Ronnie sat a live trap and caught a huge opossum that had apparently been using Dad's tools to do renovations in his home which was located in our attic. Ronnie was vindicated and he took the opossum with him to work that day. Knowing Ronnie the opossum was shot. But I like to believe that it was released to move onto someone elses attic.
Fortunately, as far as I know there are no opossums in my garage. Hopefully, there is nothing alive out there. But apparently, I will be finding out today. Wish me luck. If I survive this, I will let you know how it goes tomorrow. Have a good day!
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