Tuesday September 18, 2012 at The Holy Oak
He decided it was time to clean out the garage. It had nothing to do with the purchase of a car or moving. It had been fifteen years of baseball gloves and broken lamps, lawn bowling and textbooks. When Martha died, he’d put her clothes and her things, her special cupcake decorating set and her tarot cards, in big tupperware bins. He’d stacked them carefully, with the help of his son-in-law, in the far left corner of the garage, amidst boxes and a deconstructed child’s bed, waiting for a grandchild to be re-assembled. Every time he went into the garage he glanced at the tupperware bins and he felt an exceptional wave of sadness. September inspired him to make Martha’s tomato soup (and extra for the freezer). He put on an orange V-neck sweater over his plaid button-up. He thought of Martha’s clothes, in tupperware bins, in the garage. He hadn’t even seen them in awhile but he was overcome with that exceptional wave of sadness. Those beautiful cardigans, those soft blouses, those ironed pants – they weren’t being worn by anyone at all. It was Saturday morning when he started cleaning the garage. He made piles of what stayed and went went. Then he got to the tupperware bins.