In cleaning out, throwing out, and giving away the accumulated stuff of 25 years, and finally sitting back and congratulating ourselves on nearing the finish line we remembered what we forgot: the attic.
Dust-covered boxes up there. An antique electric typewriter (someone please explain that to the millennials), a boogie board (someone please explain that to the boomers), and reams of paper documenting G-d knows what.
Too hot to even venture up there these days, let along make an extended stay. Yet it must be done for the coming sale of the rancho. There’s no room at the mini-rancho.
This is going to have be a 5 a.m.operation. Tomorrow.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 