The Ghosts in the Workroom

The cane from the corner

There are some realities that one must face.

The Patriots will be a bad team eventually.

The Yankees will win a World Series again.

And a house that's been lived in for over 56 years will eventually change hands.

I've been facing that reality for a few years and have begun chipping away at cleaning it.

With the COVID-19 pandemic in full effect, there's no way anyone can help me currently so i've been on my own, facing the most daunting part: the workroom.

While my brother and I can each lay claim to it, there's no question whose dojo that workroom was.

My father.

Oh, it's changed some since 1963, and even more since 1989.

But, it's still his.

Except he wouldn't have allowed it to become the put of doom that it currently is, and I accept that blame.

There are reasons why things like that happen. No time to be in there, no answers for where certain things should go, even just exhaustion or laziness and, lastly, a certain level of sadness/ambivalence/resignation.

But. it's time to face the beast.

There was a crash one night some time back, and after looking around, I found...nothing. Later on, I found out that a an old (well, like everything else) table/peg board had rusted so bad that it crashed.

A bag of screws scattered on the floor.

I was finally able to clean it out today.

Yes, it looks like I've done nothing, and that's just because I'm really just getting started.

It's a time when you have to be heartless. You can't save a nail because your deceased dad might have bought it. Yet, to be honest, there's been nothing like that so far, save for some old pencils from his old company and a few other things.

I guess what I'm saying is there might still be ghosts are there. I cleaned a corner that probably hadn't been touched in a minimum of 20 years but it wouldn't surprise me if it was 50 years. In another pocket, I came across what I think was a cane that belonged to my father.

That did not get thrown out, for the record.

Those moments can get emotional as I discover something that tugs at me.

Not today. At least, not yet, although the cane took my breath away.

If anything, I felt a little resentment at him for not being here to be a part of this project.

Not really, but I chuckled to myself. Keep in mind, he'd also be 90.

I sit here tonight a bit sore from crawling around and carrying out garbage.

The project will continue.

If there are ghosts, they'll wait for another day.