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Just as it is true that people with memory loss should not live in glass houses lest they forget and walk around naked, scaring small animals and children all the while, it is also true that people with memory loss should not live in small houses with inadequate closet space. (Nor should they indulge in run on sentences.) When people with memory loss live in small houses they should also never, never, never buy more towels thinking they did not buy enough the first time, not remembering that the towels are still packed away, lovingly and in a towel like way cushioning art and antiques in boxes in the garage. At last, I intimately understand Sartre's concept of despair.

One day, I plan on taking pictures of the things I have in our converted garage in arrangements of 1-12 so that I can compose a 12 days of Christmas song about them. That is the only way I can imagine doing the silliness of my collecting justice. Am I the only person who sees the necessity of having 5 candy thermometers and 3 pickle graspers? I suspect I am. I also suspect that I am the only person who sees the wisdom in owning 8 bottle openers. I do not live in a frat house, as much as it appears that way from all of the barking and dry humping going on daily. I'd like to know, though, when I will ever have an occasion to use my two sets of china and the Christmas plates. I'm not even Christian! Additionally: where are all of the beds I have linens for? I only see two, yet I have 4 comforters, 3 coverlets, 3 duvet covers and countless pillow cases. The truly odd thing is that I need more sheets. Wait, I better unpack the garage some more before I make that assertion.

As I sit here on our bed that I can no longer see, surrounded by sweaters that I will never wear, I wonder why a woman who lives in Texas, the place that is Africa hot most of the time, needs 5 green sweaters, 6 black sweaters, 2 red sweaters, and a mishmash of other colors. Having them while we lived in Santa Fe and Montana makes sense, but now? That does not make sense. Nor does it make sense that I have 10 pairs of boots, two of them cowboy boots I have never worn and probably will never wear. I just don't see myself having the opportunity to wear red cowboy boots. Anywhere. Then again, maybe I'll skip through the grass in them while carrying my 10 Easter baskets. Reminder: I'm not even Christian!

Finally, I am left to wonder why we need 6 spatulas, 10 whisks, 11 scrapers and 15 pie plates. I will not bear the blame of this one alone as my former chef husband does so like to collect kitchen utensils. I am forced to pack away the two pastry bags with the amazing assortment of tips in a box with the above mentioned candy thermometers marked "baking." I am also glad to pack away the mandolin, electric knife blades, two butcher knives and myriad other cutting things in a larger box marked "sharp things." I am quite sure I won't miss them but I will keep them nonetheless. Perhaps I should have packed them in one of the 13 beach type bags I have out there. No, I might need those to haul stuff somewhere, sometime. I guess I could pack away the 5 long scarves, the 20 decorative scarves, the 4 berets, and the 6 winter hats I have in those bags, too. I've never worn any of them. Yet, I am in constant need of gloves to prevent blood loss to my Raynaud's fingers and can never find any. Is my garage the place of useless but beautiful things? Oh, the humanity.

I must go, now. It is time to trudge back to the garage and unpack another one of the 70 boxes of books so that I can stack them in the corner. It might be mindless work, but it's pointless work! Maybe I'll put the 30 empty gift boxes on top of the books, next to the 30 roles of wrapping paper and the 60 rolls of ribbon. Wait, what was I just talking about? Oh yes, I need new sheets.

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