Saturday, September 20, 2008
My garage was filled with more stuff than Hector the Collector (c.f. Shel Silverstein) could ever dream of. I had visions of one day holding a giant sale in which every practical, decorative, arcane, and hard-to-find item would be united with its pre-destined owner--like Shiva in search of Shakti. However, there were three problems with this strategy. First, there aren't any Shivas or Shaktis in my neighborhood, and no one who'd be willing to pay what any of my arcana is worth. Second, my garage and driveway are not suitable for a sale because I live on a slope at a dead-end, where people who actually find my place are likely to trip, fall, and sue my ass. Third, I had ceded the use of my garage, sans payment, to the storage of stuff I don't want (c.f. George Carlin) which means that even if I eventually sold everything for top dollar, I would never recoup the loss of the use of my property. (Did I ever tell you I have an M.B.A.?)
Sooo, today I started loading up my SUV and I'm about to take it all to St. Vincent DePaul. It's actually going to take me several trips. The garage, only partially emptied, now has an airiness to it, a feeling of decadent spaciousness. It's like the man who told the Rabbi his family were at each other's throats because his house was so small and there wasn't room to turn around. The Rabbi said, "Move the cow into the house," and later, the horse, the chickens, the goat...you see where this is going. When the Rabbi finally gave the man permission to kick out all the animals, the family said their house felt like a palace. So be it with my garage.
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