WHEN SHERYL AND I moved into our Calftown abode in May 2009, we took one look at the garage by the alley and said, "Ugh."
It's sort of leaning to one side. At that time it had a wood burning stove, moldy rugs and carpet covering the cracked floor, and decades of wood shavings from a previous owner. It's not very big and we didn't think a car would fit into it. At the back is an old dog house, attached much later after the garage was built.
We got rid of the stove. I tore up the rugs and ticked off legions of cockroaches and other life forms. I swept it out and put our lawnmower and scooter in it. We even put a new door with an opener on it.
Seeing another storm rolling in, I decided to clean it out yesterday with the hopes I could squeeze the car into it.
First, the hapless Frank Haxel was in the wrong place at the wrong time, as usual. He mentioned throwing stuff away into his Vancil Performing Arts bin. In our garage was a bunch of carpet from Sheryl's infamous "let's see what the wood floors look like" endeavor last year.
"Hey Frank," I said. "Can we borrow your truck?"
Notice how I said "we," not "I."
So Frank came over, we dumped the carpet in his truck, then smushed it into his bin. Last night I moved the scooter and lawnmower and other stuff into the back by the old dog house. And, voilà, the car fit in the garage.
I got excited. Bring it on, snow! My car is safe, protected. No more scraping in the mornings. What a great deal!
Of course, it didn't start snowing heavily this morning until we got the car out of the garage and went to work.
As I walked the dogs down the alley before we left, Mary Dickerman poked her head out the window.
"Hey, can you clean out my garage so I can park in it, too?" she asked, hopefully.
Uh, sure thing, Mary. Just as soon as Frank empties out that bin.
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