I’ve owned residences in eight different cities: Hobart, Ind.; Indianapolis; Taylor, Texas; Muncie, Ind.; Marshall, Mich.; Chicago; Palm Beach Gardens, Fla.; and Jacksonville, Fla. The house in Hobart and the co-op apartment in Chicago did not have garages; the rest did. And my car took safe haven in the garage in every single residence—except Jacksonville. That is, until yesterday.
When we moved to Jacksonville in January 2003, we combined not two, but three households: Jim retired and moved up here with me, bringing with him his things. Then a few months after we got settled, his mother expressed a wish to move in with us. Although Jim disposed of most of her furniture, she still brought a lot of “stuff” with her. (And she had a lot.) The excesses of our three households found their way into the attic and onto the floor of the garage.
None of the cars I have owned since moving up here—two Honda sedans, a Murano crossover, and our current vehicle, a Chevy HHR—had never been able to take cover in the garage. It was too full.
Our plan (which may or may not happen, depending upon the housing market) is to put our house up for sale, travel in Baby around the country, and eventually find a new place to live, most likely not in Florida. To follow that plan, the house has to be ready for sale—and that has meant culling through our possessions.
Jim has done a great job of this. He brought everything down from the attic, and we participated in the community yard sale in April. (We’ll have another in the future.) And yesterday he cleaned out the garage enough for the car to find a place of its own. Finally.
It won’t last long. The back bedroom (formerly his mother’s) is full of stuff that will have to be stored in the garage eventually.
But until that time, I plan to enjoy seeing our little HHR rest in a safe haven.
Until next time,