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Closets

It's closet cleaning time. Well, it never really is closet cleaning time around my house until there just isn't anything better to do.

Life has come to a stand still. Everything that can be read has been read and nothing that needs to be written is just leaping from my hand to the page. TV is for people that don't mind it and I'm not one of those people. So that leaves closet cleaning. Practical, mindless and eternally subject to procrastination.

But its not that easy for me and the problem always ends up dealing with whatever "old" means. Take for instance these old sweaters. I picked them out of the free box probably ten years ago. I wore them until they were ragged. I like them and they're old.

So that means I can just throw them away? Now wait a minute. I'm old too. Does than mean I'm just as disposable as these old sweaters? Somehow that seems cruel and uncaring.

Yet keeping a closet full of clothes I'll never wear again could be seen by some as an early sign of creeping senility. Or at least a pretty solid indicator of old fuddy-duddy-ness. So now it comes down to whether I want to keep my old clothes as a defense against the disposable "if it's old it goes" society.

"Do you remember the time when we cleaned out you mother's closet," my wife asked.

Ooh. A stake through the heart. Senility is about to be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. Without losing a stride, I reach behind the shelves where there are three brand new, not old and previously used, very large moving cartons. With tape gun poised like John Wayne taking a last stand and knowing that this moment is about as important as that scene in Iwo Jima, I immediately start cramming the sweaters and anything else in reach into the box.

I suggest you do the same.

Edit: After reading this blog, she asked, "So how long are those boxes going to stay in the garage?"

 

 

 

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