Behind Door Number Three

My wife and I stood in our driveway and looked back up into our garage. Our garage. Our driveway. Inside we could see our barbecue kettle and our lawnmower. Our barbecue kettle. Our lawnmower. We looked back at each other. How did we acquire all this stuff? How did we acquire this garage?
Fast forward a few more years. I'm standing in that same garage. The barbecue is still there. The lawn mower, recently repaired, is still there. A heavy bag hangs from one of the rafters which already support a goodly amount of lumber, pipe, and cardboard. There is a barrel full of sports equipment that has seen better days. Tennis racket? Who plays tennis? That's okay. If there is a tennis-related emergency, we know where we can go to fix the problem. And if there is an issue that involves drip irrigation, the shelves against the south wall hold all the parts we might need.
Then there's the counter we hauled out of our kitchen when we remodeled. In the cupboards and drawers below are stored the bits and pieces of household improvements attempted and completed over the past fifteen years: sandpaper, caulk, wood putty, and all those tools. Screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, scrapers, and these are just the manual versions. Across the way are their powered cousins, corded and uncorded: saws and drills and more saws. I will work with all of these, but if I have to choose one, I'm going with the cordless drill. It's not much good for plumbing problems, but it has a way of solving and fixing the holes and loose hinges that occur over time.
And there's that big lump, sitting on the counter. It could be an albino turtle. It could be a blue whale's brain, but it's not. It's a wad of foam, left over from an experiment my son conducted when he shot most of the contents of a spray insulation into a shoe box. It's a relic, of sorts. It's a reminder of the holes we filled inside our house, to keep the outside out.
I know from whence all this all this stuff came. There are no secrets. Squirt guns, water toys and a wading pool waiting for the day when they make sense again. Until then, I know where they'll be.