Article 111907 of alt.peeves: Path: matra.meer.net!news.spies.com!news.sgi.com!news-peer.gsl.net!news.gsl.net!newspump.sol.net!ddsw1!news.mcs.net!not-for-mail From: finch@MCS.COM (Deirdre Sholto-Douglas) Newsgroups: alt.peeves Subject: Lofty Traditions Date: 30 Nov 1996 13:38:15 -0600 Organization: home Lines: 112 Message-ID: <57q2f7$4o1@Mars.mcs.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: mars.mcs.com X-Newsreader: TIN [UNIX 1.3 unoff BETA release 961022] Once upon a time there was a garage. This garage was small by today's standards, but at the time of its construction, its two and a half car width was a sign that the owner was in pursuit of the American Dream. It steadfastly served two owners and kept their vehicles safe from the elements. Then its life changed. The new owner, having sold two properties but purchasing only one, had lots of Stuff...and nowhere to put it. For the first year or so, the little garage was crammed to its, figurative, gills with Stuff. After a time had passed, the owner slowly began incorporating the Stuff into the interior of the house. While there was still a lot left without, it was now possible for a human to enter the garage and actually move from one end to the other without getting killed or maimed. Then it happened. The human decided that perhaps it would be a Good Thing if automobiles could be stored within the sanctity of the little garage. One look at it told her this was not going to happen without either a miracle or one hell of a lot of Hard Labour. Since no miracle had occurred in the preceding three years, it was decided, albeit reluctantly, to opt for the latter course. And so The Lofts were born. The first of these went up on the rafters above the area of the door. Granted, one could not access it if the door was open, but when it was finished the human was jubilant for it appeared there was plenty of space to Store Everything. The task of shifting Stuff from the floor of the garage to The Loft began and before long The Loft was full. Sadly, there was still an awful lot of Stuff still residing on the floor. With heavy heart construction was begun on a second Loft. This one was a whopping 100 square feet in area and as it hung suspended four feet from the ceiling, should have netted approximately 400 cubic feet of storage space. It did, but it turned out that there was considerably more than 400 cubic feet of Stuff. A third, Baby Loft, was suspended. This one a mere 125 cubic feet. As space, even above ground, was now becoming scarce, the Baby Loft was located right beside the People Door to the house. It was designed so that no people, upon exiting the door, would bang their noggins upon its underside. Despite knowing this, after six years, the owner still jerks back in surprise simply because the location of the Baby Loft looks like a Concussion Waiting to Happen. More Stuff was relocated and at last the floor of the garage was visible. The owner gleefully began storing the cars within. The Lofts were re-arranged during the next few years. Nothing was ever taken down, but re-arrangement meant that new Stuff could be put up. Things which were relegated to the Lofts rarely, if ever, saw the light of day again. Several years passed and a tornado came to visit. This tornado was not Polite Company and as it left it took the roof as a Door Prize. To everyone's (most expressly the Insurance Adjuster Man's) surprise, only the shingles and decking over the garage disappeared. The rafters and, more importantly, The Lofts, remained intact. Granted, much of the Stuff had disappeared, but the owner was gratified to have a cheque placed in her Grubby Paw for replacement of property which she had forgotten she owned. She was even more gratified to discover that there was now Lots Of Space to store new Stuff. Over the years a certain logic with regard to storage evolved. A System, as it were. This System decreed that things such as rose cones would be stored in the Monster Loft over the doors, whereas things such as ugly, antique oriental carpets would be stored in the Middle Sized Loft. The Baby Loft was used for Christmas decorations and other such items that were actually, on occasion, used. And so, each December, the Baby Loft belches forth its contents and rewards the owner with the trappings of Christmases Past. The task of retrieval is easily a two, and possibly even a three, person job. It would undoubtedly be made easier if the owner would remember to label the boxes, but somehow this is never accomplished. This means that each December, every box is removed, peered into and either accepted or rejected. After severals hour of Labour Intensive Shuffling, those boxes which are deemed to Be Useful are congregated on the floor and those which are merely a Storage Nuisance are replaced above. Oddly, no matter how many boxes are removed, the Baby Loft never appears to be less than Completely Full. The Chosen Boxes are then moved to inside the domicile, there to reside in the kitchen corridor until such time as the owner becomes tired of falling over them and decides to actually Put The Decorations Up. In that, it is possible to say that Tripping Over Boxes is a Christmas Tradition. It isn't Christmas without bruised shins. It has now been two whole days since I pilfered the Baby Loft and moved The Decorations into the corridor. Despite doing this every year, the learning curve is apparently a flat line because, to date, I have walked into or stumbled over them every time I try to traverse that corridor. Obviously, sometime in the next week I shall have to Clear The Corridor lest I end up breaking something more costly and painful than a Christmas Light. Of course, once the decorations are up, the now empty cartons have to be returned to the garage for storage. Fortunately, most of them can be flattened out which means they do not have to go Up In The Air again. Some however, are of the old copy-paper variety, non-collapsible, but entirely too good to simply bung in the recycler. These have to be returned to the Baby Loft in order that there is still sufficient space for the Automobile. Given the amount of time I spend up in the garage rafters at this time of year, I'm starting to wonder if it wouldn't save considerable Time and Trouble to simply start a new tradition and celebrate Christmas in the Lofts. Yours from the stepladder, Deirdre -- | Deirdre Sholto-Douglas | e-mail: finch@Mercury.mcs.com | | | | ******* The only acceptable substitute for intelligence ******* is silence.