Garage

Garage - a place where a car is parked. It can be attached to the house of detached. It can hold one or more cars.

That is what should be written for the definition of a garage. I was going to look on the internet to see what the real definition is, but I didn't get to a dictionary, and to be honest, with the internet I don't even know where my hard bound real life one is!

Now, let's get real. A garage, at least in my neighborhood, is a place to store your excess stuff. Stuff - you know the things you have no room for, but can't get yourself to get rid of, and besides, there is no more room in your house for it.

Also, let's face another fact. This is Texas. There is a truck or SUV in almost every driveway you come across. These vehicles, for the most part, will not fit in the garages around here. You have to have one with a raised door to allow that big brother in.

That brings me to our garage. In this garage is a '65 MGB. It ran - for a while. It was my dads a looooong time ago. We had the engine rebuilt. But the guy who did that took about two years to do it, and during that time the car sat outside in weeds. It has no undercarriage to speak of. You wonder if you are going to fall through onto the road.

Then its electrical system is fried because when it had no gas, G, who has NO mechanical abilities, decided the reason it wouldn't start after sitting for a while was a dead battery. That may have been true, but pushing it and popping the clutch" wouldn't do the job. He went to get jumper cables. You should have seen the sparks. British cars are wired differently from American!

Then Son began to work on the fuel system several years later. He did his usual job - not finished with parts scattered. Then SIL enters the picture and decides to be helpful and cleans us. When he does, parts get thrown away. Needless to say, it doesn't run anymore.

Then the rest of the garage is a smattering of junk the kids have left as they moved out, in, out, in, out. It isn't just their junk. My tables for craft shows are thrown in (thanks G). Then there are other various things G has thrown in (and I really mean that literally - not placed - thrown).

Along one wall is some gardening equipment, rakes, shovels, and a pick axe - all waiting to reach and trip me as I walk by to the one thing that is the most important - the outside refrigerator.

That refrigerator was almost the cause of death for me. I don't have good balance these days - in fact I have no balance. I went out to get a cold drink at noon, and I lost my balance a little. Actually, I just got off center. I was falling back. I certainly didn't want to fall. The fall is just one part of that. It's the getting up that is the problem! So I grabbed the door of the fridge.

It did save me, but I got to thinking later. If my huge mass had managed to pull the fridge forward, it could have fallen on me. Even with my huge mass, I'm no match for a refrigerator. That could have been the end of Grandma K. I wouldn't be seen easily when someone came around. I would have been trapped (hopefully alive) in the pile of stuff on the floor of that side of the garage. That's a picture I don't like.

So what am I going to do about it. Well, I guess I could make the trail to the fridge wider. That would help, but G would see more floor, and do I have to say the rest.

The real kicker here is G blames everybody else for the garage, when actually he is the one who opens the door and pitches whatever it is in.

I guess I just better bring the cold drinks in the house - period.

Peace be with you.