Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, October 2, 1995 TAG: 9510030017
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Let us suppose - it's the basement.
She says, ``Why don't you pull the truck down to the outside door? That way we can put the stuff for the dumpster directly into it.''
He says, ``I don't think we'll need the truck. We won't have that much trash.''
She says, ``Humor me.''
And so, he goes for the truck. He parks it on the hill by the basement door. He lets down the tailgate, props open the camper top.
She calls, from inside the basement, ``I bought an extra box of super-big garbage bags, too.''
He shakes his head. Mutters, ``Something else to store.''
So they start in the back, next to the furnace, in the space into which she's had him build a closet for extra clothes.
He picks up an old plastic garbage bag, dust at its knotted neck, and starts toward the truck.
``Not that,'' she says. ``That stays.''
He says, ``It's a garbage bag.''
``But it's not garbage,'' she tells him.
``What, then?''
``Shoulder pads.''
He stares at the bag in his hand.
``They'll come back in style,'' she says. ``And when they do, I'll have them. Put them here on this shelf.''
``How many do you need?'' he wants to ask. The bag must weigh 10 pounds. But he puts it back on the shelf.
She picks up a dusty roll of paper. Unrolls a poster: the ``Desiderata,'' printed in fake English Gothic, over a misty seascape. ``Don't you think we can get rid of this? The mice have been at the corners.''
He snatches it out of her hands. ``I've had it since college,'' he says.
She says, ``Look at those silverfish!''
He mutters, ``Some things don't go out of style.''
Back on the shelf it goes.
And so they work their way around the basement's perimeter. He says, ``There's a wealth of information in those magazines.''
She says, ``Are they indexed? Are they catalogued? Are they available on microfilm at your public library?''
He says, ``Are they mine?''
Back on the shelf they go.
He carries out a box of dishes and pans; he thrusts it into the truck. ``Remember the time you threw away our cast iron skillet?'' she calls. ``We had to buy another one a week later, and it's never got seasoned right.''
He hauls back the whole blasted box.
She says, ``When was the last time you played golf?''
He says, ``Replacing those clubs would cost a bloody fortune.''
He says, ``Are these pieces of fabric really worth anything?''
She says, ``I'm making a quilt someday.''
She says, ``What's in all these cigar boxes, anyway?''
He says, ``You never know what size screw you'll need.''
And so it goes.
Until late in the afternoon. When, dusty, covered with spider webs, musty with sweat, they stand and put their hands in the smalls of their backs. They stretch. They look around at all they've accomplished.
``See?'' he says. ``I told you we wouldn't need the truck.''
She picks up the one paper bag they've filled. Finds a place on the shelf for the unopened super-big garbage bags. ``But,'' she says, ``it's so much neater now.''
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times columnist.
by CNB