I've been afraid to say anything about the Canadian installment of The Crapture, or as we will call it, The Crapture, Eh?
Part of my fear is that the final acts of Crapture won't happen before snow flies and we'll be looking at all the stuff under snow all winter and watch it emerge in the Brown Season (aka pre-spring, aka April). However, it's also possible that I will be able to schedule a bin this month.
See, here's the deal. We have structures on this property. One has a new roof, and the old roof had to come off to put that on. Both structures have storage places. The larger structure had a basement. In these storage spaces were large containers full of CRAP. Crap from my grandparents. Crap from the wonderful couple who shared our summers here from about 1970 through the mid-1980s. Crap from my parents.
Crap like this. A plastic bag (stiff and crackling) full of margarine tubs. Dirty torn bedding. Old ice chests. Plastic water containers, broken, with the broken bits in a plastic bag carefully tied to the handle. A billion glass jars (empty, thanks be), some with lids but some without. And (shudder) evidence of mice and squirrels. Brrr.
No more. Now it's all piled next to our woodpile. Well, all except the mouse-infested contents of the work shed back of the bigger house. That's a project for this weekend. It's very satisfying.
But honestly. Look at that pile. No wonder the working title for The Crapture, Eh? was Clampetts in Shuniah.
And if all goes well, I will be able to get a bin out here. Then the last ritual can begin--the winding down of The Crapture. It will feel good.
