Then I heard a call, "Morning Gram. Back your car out. Today we clean the garage."

My reply, "OK, but is it really that bad?"

"Yup," my grandson said. Soon my car was safely parked across the yard.

I decided the garage refrigerator would be my project. With a bucket of hot sudsy water, some rags and an hour, the old fridge looked like new. I remembered when the garage refrigerator was filled with cans of beer, cases of soda, garden produce and maybe leftovers from a family dinner.

Now after it was clean and shiny, its only storage was a bag of apples, a few cans of soda and the makings of s’mores. How times have changed.

Next, was the shelf along the wall that once held important things. How does one sort boxes of weed killer, bags of plant food, cans of bug spray mingled with artificial poinsettias, stray tools, half used cans of paint, tangled electric cords, scraps of sandpaper, plant pots and even unidentifiable stuff. The dust flew in all directions as the shelf was emptied and every piece sorted.

A big sneeze on my part and a "Bless you, Gram," came from the other end of the garage. "Not dusty in here is it?" "No, not much."

With nails pounded into the edge of the shelf, all things were sorted and some hung up. Cans of paint and weed killer put on top. Even the two sets of deer horns were hung with pride, a souvenir from earlier years of hunting.

The best part was sorting the cords of Christmas lights. Soon we will trek the hill to check the live Christmas tree for the holidays and add or repair strings of lights. A six-foot wreath with lights was moved, dusted and made ready for the side of the house.

In a corner of the garage, a couple of ice chests left over from summer picnics were cleaned and stacked away in lieu of next summer. Back behind some stuff, we came across two big glass jugs that once were grandpa’s for his autumn of wild grape wine making. I really needed to wash and store them in grandpa’s memory. I can’t part with them. I think they have been pushed back out of sight, out of mind for too long.

As we swept out the dark corners, a pile of beetles lay feet up, were swept out with the dust. A breather every half hour or so led us to wonder, "Where did all this stuff come from? Is everybody’s garage as big a catch-all as this one?"

"Clang, crash, slam bang" into the little dumpster, and a few mumbles, dirt flying out the door from the shop end of the garage gave me to know that area chores were going well. At that point, I was glad my car was out of harms way.

A voice called out, "Gram, come here quick, look what I found," my grandson said.

There in one corner, the old granary scale that weighed bags of oats, wheat and corn before trips to the mill for grinding and mixing cattle and pig feed.

"Gosh, I remember weighing myself on this just for fun. You had to add the metal weights ‘til it balanced," he said.

My reply, "That’s not so strange, your mom and probably your grandfather and perhaps even your great-grandfather weighed themselves on that scale." By mid afternoon, the shelves were put to rights, the old scale put back into the corner, the lawn mower parked in place, the barbeque grill handy, the garbage containers lined up, the cupboard all neat and tidy, refrigerator cleaned, junk gone, good stuff available and floor swept.

All is clean and tidy, at least for another year. A good day, a good job done.

– Lola Huber is a wife, mother, grandmother, retired secretary, stitcher of crafts, collector of oil lamps, giver and a doer.