End of the summer, end of part of the housing complex here - our garage, extant on the property when the house was built in 1991, was finally torn down on Monday. Needed to be - listing to the north, holed and wasp-homed, broken floor that flooded or froze depending on season, inoperative large door and rotting and unable to lock side door, overrun by dust and dirt and time. The
Strasser hasn't been moored inside it more than, say, twice - and only on extended overseas missions by me. Not only physically needed - Mom saw it as a nice way to bring up the property of the house.
I agreed - time passed and i's actually exciting that we'll have anew garage. But, that ramshackle shack still teemed w. irreplaceable memories. 18 years it's been here - no wonder why even Q came up in my rambling thoughts these bunkerdays for the garage. Madonna. Especially Afrika Korps - months after she broke my heart, she got a slow leak in her tyre and she asked me to change it after class. It was cold out, so we went into the garage - I was happy in my deeply sad way because i was actually able to do it; and she gave me a heartfelt hug of thanks after. sad pathetic me.
But mainly it reminded me of Dad. He only lived two years in this house - but it was he who set most stuff up. He decided, for example, to not build a new garage with the house and instead rehab the old one; he painted it (I painted the garage in about 2003 - it's last paint job) and reshingled the roof. He stored lots of bits and pieces of tools and boards and fences and horses and nails and etc ... He also set up the benches, storage areas, ladder areas, etc... And I will tell you the truth - unlike my Dad, I am not a very handy man. Sure, I can shingle a roof and build a bookcase - but the many posts and boards and angles and tools and etc that Dad left behind in the garage when he died were largely left untouched since the last time he touched them. So, for me, it was a hard to shift away what he had placed so many years before.
I had a major job to clear away a lot of the shit that was in the garage. Of course, dad had tonnes of stuff: heavy tools, pick axes, hatchets, saws, hammers, screws, nails, locks, ladders, braces, hoses, horses, etc etc etc... lotsa weight.
But even more so, there was the worst of my packratism exposed to the elements finally. I've saved so much shit over the years - literally, every
Soccer America from 1984 (50 issues a year),
Rolling Stones, books from my grammer school years that were put out there to save the crowding in the house, university notes from four different institutions of higher learning,
Sports Illustrateds celebrating the Super Bears, the '83 Sox, and the 1980 USA Hockey Team, garden fencing, etc etc etc ...
Jacob had crashed over Saturday nite was enlisted in degarbaging the garage Sunday morning w. my bro.in.law. We effectively cleared the place in a few hours - throwing out lots, but not all - or even most. Collapsed, we did, relentlessly, but eventually did it all except for my magazines - exhaustion finally opened me up tot h possibility that I could sacrifice them. but the next morning, before the demolition crew finally came on, I scurried about trying to salvage my
Soccer America collection - and the
Rolling Stones long enough to confiscate the covers for Neice.1 . Done.
And then the wreckers came on. Jacob crashed over for a second nite, and w. Mom we watched the five man crew descend upon the garage and break it apart bit by bit until there was only a clay-ey patch of dirt where there had been a building. GONE. All gone. The yard - now exposed to the alley and people walking by - was a junkyard looking place sloppied w. the disgorged contents hurriedly rushed into the yard before the wrecker came. Worried a bit that someone mite swipe Dads axe or whatever.
They now need to pour in a new floor and start the new building. It's sad to lose a 'place' - memories - but still the new garage is looked forward to. Can't wait. Really. The new building will be clean, less cluttered, more orderly, and not justa place to store the Strasser. I imagine I will use it as a sorta hangout place - I'ts pretty common for people to open up the big door in the summer and watch the game, drink a breww, and dradle some cacklers, c'mon. I believe this place -
The Zepplin Hanger - will also fill this role.
And - a small little snippet of redemption, looking back, but untimately looking forward. In the height of Afrika korps girl period, I somehow managed to lose my krypotimite lock's key on the street near Empty Bottle on a concert nite. I had the habit of locking my bike in the garage, so there the bike remained - 7 years - until Sunday. when my neighbour tried to break it w. a giant lock cutter - failed - but that lead to a determined broinlaw who returned w. a 'circulersaw'. This was the tick. We stuck it next to the lock, applied justa bit of pressure - and 5m of application - it SNAPPED! Stunner, especially after the period of fallow it follwed. So - soon - I can finally use my bike to good regard again.
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