Anthony and I spent most of the last couple of days trying to figure out where we are going to put the new stamps when they come in. Lots of sketches were drawn and tape measures pulled, tears were cried, feet were stamped, and still, we came to the same conclusion.
We are going to have to clean out the garage.
I have to preface the horror of that statement with some history. The house that we now live in is the same one that I grew up in, and we share the fully-furnished house with my brother. About 15 years ago my parents moved from San Francisco to Petulama. And rather than move 40 years of memories and furnishings, and frankly, trash, they took their clothes and bought all new everything. Much was stored in the garage. I shortly moved to Southern California.When my father heard that we were moving back, he decided to incorporate two of the rooms in the lower level into office space for us. All of the items that we had stored there were...moved to the garage.
So when Anthony and I decided to leave Marina del Rey where we had a one bedroom with dining room and patio and large storage space. What furniture we could incorporate into the house, we did. What we couldn't, we stored—in the garage.
It's almost too much to bear.
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