Andy and I have very different philosophies when it comes to cleaning. My clothes are organized by color and sleeve length. His clothes are stacked in piles on his closet floor. When I cook, I clean as I go along. When he cooks, it looks like a tornado has swept through our kitchen.
For months Andy’s been building a gorgeous fence (more on that later). The garage has gradually gotten messier and messier until, a few days ago, it was difficult to open the door. To my great surprise, Andy decided to clean out the garage on Sunday. “It’s all about threshold,” he said.
He decided to take everything out so he could waterproof the floor and walls as this is where he plans to set up his woodworking shop. Our yard was soon littered with things such as scrap pieces of wood, a drill press, a ping pong table, two box spring mattresses (we discovered queen-size box springs don’t fit up our stairs when we moved in), tarps, used oil, two lawnmowers, a planer, garden equipment and too many Lowes receipts.
I offered to help but was soon yelled at for throwing too much away—things like a broken lid and a tattered piece of rope. So instead I watched Tucker chew a stick and Sophie chew Ming Ming’s head.
“The fellow that owns his own home is always just coming out of a hardware store.” —Kin Hubbard