I spent half of yesterday, partially cleaning my living room.
I am reminded of, The Land of Misfit Toys from the original holiday classic: Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. My ex-wife's son, his girlfriend, and their 4 year old, 2 year old, and 6 month old finally moved out after a 90 days or so, shack up.
Seven people in a one bedroom 700 sq. feet condominium[55+ community, serious violation no less] is not a laughing matter. Yes, I know others have it worse, trust me, I could be living on the streets tomorrow. Homeless alcoholic ex-convicts should be grateful. I am a resentful, bitter bastard.
I cleaned up at least 5 garbage bags of toys, stuffed animals and crap. That doesn't count the bags that I stuffed and directly took to the trash. I put those 5 bags in the storage room, in violation. Every unit has a 3x4x3 storage cage in the storage room. Hurricane panels are the only thing allocated their own designated free standing space. Nothing else is to be stored or left in storage space.
Our storage space is crammed full. I have taken the liberty of using my next door neighbors also. A recent studio renovation tenant, that has a residence in my neighborhood and might have bought it for income property. I am sure I will find out soon.
I have yet to start the haz-mat deep cleaning. Ensconced in my bedroom three times longer than I have ever been in solitary confinement in prison, I am not ready to get back to living beyond my means.
I dislike the term 'man-cave'. I am not a man's man. I don't like football, hanging out with guys and the rest of those homo erotic latent homosexual pastimes.
Yes I can cook, clean, sew, and do laundry. I am not a drag queen but I do have to shop for my ex-wife's clothes.
Anyway. Toys is what I was reflecting on at 7 am this morning. It's now almost noon and I get distracted from my writing theme. It stews like a sauce as I contemplate, refill coffee, have a cigarette or lose my place. Lets start with the pertinent list.
Tinker Toys
Lego's
Lincoln Logs
I was born in 1964. The youngest of five children. I am sure I had plenty of toys. Hand me downs or what-not. I can look through my baby book and see Christmas pictures of things but nothing was significant. At 4 years old I was in the cupboards using my mothers pots, pans and wooden spoons to play drums.
She let me. I didn't get into chemicals, detergents or caustics. I became a drummer by the age of 12.
I had both my grandmothers living in Broward County when I grew up. My mothers mother was old salt. My mother was born here and I am second generation south florida native. no one cares. [ironically I don't even know where to buy a florida native bumper sticker.] "Grandma with the steps", lived downtown in Sailboat Bend. I had a toy basket there when I went to visit:(I never slept over).
A wooden car, a couple blocks and maybe a top. It sat next to the fireplace on the creaky wooden floor I will never forget. I learned the constant whiff of gas in her kitchen. Sometimes in some restaurants I worked, I would get that certain tinge.
I spent more time at my fathers mothers house. She was more prominent in my life. I stayed there when my parents had to go to political conventions and the likes.
I NEVER HAD ANY TOYS THERE.
I never brought any toys either.
she was my Nana.
She lived in a 2 room house and took care of her incapacitated brother. My dads uncle George. A veteran who spent his time in his room. Smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee and buying my grandmother every kitchen appliance in the world from Fingerhut (way before the internet,amazon, HSN and E bay... thank god).
He was a medic in the war and I learned what hypochondriac meant.
Nana took care of a husband my bastard father never knew.
They were originally from Detroit. Everyone worked on the motorlines back then.
My aunts and uncles would visit on holidays or make regular 'season' visits.
