A Grenade in the Hand Is Worth Two in the Closet

I understand that many older folks have years and years and YEARS worth of stuff stored away in their homes.  I know this because, after Mom divorced John the Nazi, I spent months cleaning out cabinets, cupboards, and closets because she was going to move in with us and she needed to get rid of several decade’s worth of accumulation.  For one thing, she had never cleaned out her clothes closet, just moved items from home to home.  She had dresses and suits from the sixties and seventies.  Some of it was so old it was back in style.  Another hurdle was created by her ex, who only seemed to buy in quantity and redundancy.  If he needed to replace, oh, say, a door handle, he wouldn’t buy one – he’d buy six.  If he wanted a new golf shirt, he wouldn’t stop at a couple, he’d get a dozen  – all the same color and pattern.  And don’t even get me started on his collection of unopened packages of underwear.  He was also an avid golfer and made his own clubs – scores of them!  Any way, you get the picture.  Add to this Mom’s compulsion to buy useless junk from Publisher’s Clearing House and the Harriet Carter catalog, and you can imagine the garage sale hell I lived in for almost a year.  Then, as it turned out, Mom couldn’t sell her house, we had to give up ours, and we moved in with her instead.

The reason I bring this up is that, up until yesterday, I thought my mother probably had the weirdest compilation of stuff of anyone living in Sun City.  I knew others could come close, just from peeks inside some of the opened garages and undraped windows when Bill and I walk in the neighborhood, as well as visiting the homes of some of our neighbors.  Boy was I wrong!  As bad as it was cleaning out the clutter, at least I didn’t come across any weaponry, like hand grenades, which is what happened to a family cleaning out their deceased father’s house a couple of miles from here.  The headline in the Sun City paper proclaimed “Live Grenades Found In Man’s Home.”  This guy was a WWII vet and, not only did he have live hand grenades laying around his house, the Bomb Squad – yes, they had to call the Bomb Squad – also found other “live ordinance,” whatever the heck that is!

Sorry Mom, I’ll never complain about your tweed jumper or ceramic duck collection again!


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