Can I Do This?

When Wayne's parents died, he went down and helped clean out their things. Paul went with him. They brought back this and that. Some of it is still in use. Paul has a wall cupboard, and the dining room set has been to California and back and is now in Lola's house.

But many of those this-es and thats are in my garage.

For instance, my grandson Bryan was looking at a tool box the other day, and I'm pretty sure it belonged to Wayne's Grandpa Corkum. He's been dead for 60 years and probably got the tools in his early life. This should make clear the tool box is antique. Double that.

Took a while for Bryan to figure out how to close it once he got it open, and he said the tools inside were old. Yeah. Double that, too.

And there's a biggish clock that was broken all to pieces when it arrived here. I guess Wayne thought he might get it fixed.

Looks like it was once a fine looking clock, with its wood carved into ornate designs. Well, semi-ornate. It, with its pieces, are half in a white cardboard file box--the thing is too big for the box, and I don't have any way to know if all the pieces are in there.

There's other stuff, too. Like the tall, white, rolling, plastic thing with many drawers filled with some kind of tool-related material. Like the very old, rusted metal file cabinet. And like the first typewriter ever made, I think, in its wooden box.

I'm writing about this because I want to throw it all away. I mean, it's been a long time sitting just in my garage, let alone wherever it sat before that. And don't get any ideas about me taking the stuff to The Antiques Roadshow.

Yes, it was stuff once important to people who remain important. But the stuff does no good to anyone now, and it clutters my garage. (I can't help how that sounds.)

Yes, I want to throw it away, but here's the thing: It feels like I need someone's permission to do the throwing.

Is that stupid? Yeah, probably.