Face To Face

Just got back from visiting my dad. Drove there watching the lovely changing colours of fall and listening to The Kinks' Face To Face on the way, then Percy on the way back. Wonderful albums, both of them, the second, in particular, being quite tragically underrated.

As for my dad, well, he has been cheating the doctor's order. Walking without his cane that is. And showing it off to the nurses. Apparently all stroke patients cheat like that. It's kinda cute actually.

Let's just not tell my mom.

In any case, he has a list of shores lined up for us already again for Thanksgiving weekend, but that's all right. The thing is, my dad had the stroke right in the middle of doing some renovations projects. We had to try our best to finish them. Then some adjustments had to be made to facilitate his coming home. Then my sister had more renovations ideas, which took even more time. Then I thought it would be nice to use the stroke as an excuse to try to have them take some control over the crazy hoarding that has become apparent over recent years in their house.

My parents haven't thrown out anything since the late 70s.

The not throwing out stuff in itself is not a problem. Re-use, recycle and re-utilise, no problem, go ahead. I just think that if you have stuff, you should use it. It you are not going to wear that brown polyester velour ski suit with beige, knitted collar and cuffs, don't keep it. Just give it away, if you have too. Maybe some high school drama class can use it as a costume or something. Do not keep the sweater in which you fits four times either. Do not keep 7 freaking broken irons or 5 also freaking broken hair dryers pretexting "I'll repair them". You won't. Do not keep IKEA ads from the 80s or 93 green flimsy plastic plant pots just in case you need them. You won't. Do not keep the busted out Commodore 64, the chess set with all the missing pieces, or any rusted lamps. Because, no, you are not going to use it.

And seriously, Elvis 8-tracks?

So we've been clearing out wardrobes and the garage, especially. So far, with the help of my mom, who now hopes to see her car finally able to stay inside for the winter, and with my dad in his chair pointing to what is good and what isn't, we have a four-hour per metre average.

*sigh*

I think the garage is scarier than the stroke.