Monday, November 25, 2013

And Another

Last Thursday it was time, again, for an iron run; this time Tara took down these big iron shelf brackets from their spot in the garage, which spot incidentally was covering some windows, because who needs those things. Ah, hoarder logic at its finest. They had been piled up with boards, mostly old junky scraps with nails in them, bits of two by four, that sort of thing. Nothing organized, nothing really useful. I'll bet you're real surprised at that. I sure was.

So with the brackets (which weighed like seventy pounds each) and some assorted other stuff Tara dug out of the usual somewhere, off we went on another iron run. Here's the trailer:

(Picture by Tara.)

There was some stuff in the Bus, too, but Tara didn't get a picture of that. I can't even remember what it was. It all blurs together after a while, honestly.

Can't say there's much really to report, as we made it there and back again without incident, which is always nice and not something I, personally, take for granted given the Bus; but it does add to our totals.

So, last Thursday's iron run makes it the fifty-fifth trip and brings the total up to 44,920 pounds of iron removed since we've been keeping track. That's 22.46 tons, in case you were wondering.

I'm long since past tired of all this.


Anonymous said...

You two are truly an inspiration to me. Thanks for updating your website!

Anonymous said...

On the minus side: Another slog round the treadmill of getting rid of miscellaneous rusty hunks of rusty rust.

On the plus side: WINDOWS.

Capcha: lessfend. Yes, indeed, there are less fends around the place.

Anonymous said...

Revisiting this entry, I got angry all over again. While his family sat shivering in an underlit house, with most of the multiple fireplaces empty and cold, while he was complaining about poverty, your father carefully built this shelf across a source of free natural light and filled it with things that could have been used to keep the rest of you warm, and let them sit there for years and years, untouched.

I can't think of words to describe your father that aren't scatological or obscene.

Thalia said...

Yep. That's about the size of it.

I can think of one word to describe my father now, one that I like very much:


Anonymous said...

If I were you (and obvs. I'm not you so this is just blue-skying), the day a metal detector failed to turn up a single rusty hunk of rusty rust in the dirt, the day I was able to go from highest room to lowest without seeing a single item from the hoard that had not been made actually useful (so, not a single fragment from this particular hoard,* then), the day, in short, that I had finally gotten rid of all of it--then I would throw a huge party.

I would turn on every light in the house. Fill a table with delicious food until it groaned, and give away all of the leftovers. Rent a hot tub just so I could run it full of steaming water. Throw open all of the windows, crank up something good and loud, and dance all over the lawn.

And the next morning, just to make absolutely sure that the last of the crap was gone, I would hold a purification ceremony.

*Another blogger I follow over at Hoarding Woes had to take care of a house that was hoarded up mostly with mid-priced vintage merchandise that the former owner had kept on buying after her resale shop closed. The stuff was prettier, but the outcome was the same: "Oh God not another one!"