Ray really hated clutter - and this means that in the four years since my mother died, he's purged the house of a fair number of cluttery things. This means that we're down to - say - two wooden spoons; no little hand held machine to mince parsley; no mixing bowl; only a couple of flower vases, and so on. The fact that I might have been attached to that mixing bowl, say - didn't matter. Clutter.
On the other hand - this is not clutter. This is a garage full of Things That Might Come in Useful. This is most definitely a - even he came to call it a Man Hut - it's where he used to smoke his pipe and read his book in the evening, wrapped up in his 60 year old duffel coat (a garment that maybe explains his fondness for Paddington Bear). I made a start on it today. Does anyone want a lifetime collection of nails, screws, screwdrivers (I've appropriated the ones I remember learning to use as a kid), pieces of wire, clock parts (so many clock parts), picture frames found in dumpsters; pieces of wood (short); pieces of wood (long); bamboo canes; umbrellas; old pieces of plastic; an old percolator labelled "doesn't work, save for parts;" dried up cans of paint, of varnish, of oil; dried up paint brushes; old tooth brushes; shoe horns; gardening gloves; rags; garden tools; packets of seed; plastic bowls ... ?
What to do with the moth-eaten duffel coat, though? That will be the hard goodbye.
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