I’ve been cleaning out the tubs in the floor today, and my father came by. Now we know why I’m such a pack rat. I inherited that trait from him.
Here’s how it came about. He says, looking in one of the tubs, “The garbage can is your friend.” Then he goes into Sis’s room, which I’m using as a staging area for junk. He looks at the stuff. “You’re getting rid of this?”
I eventually put it to him nicely, this way: “Now I know why I have so much junk. Now shoo before you get me to keep something else I don’t need.”
The garbage can is our friend. And I haven’t even gone near the closet yet.
And on an unrelated note, I visit DC once again on the 9th. This marks nearly three weeks since J20, the last time I went to Washington DC. My friend Katie and I had to cancel our February 2 trip because of an emergency that came up, and so we didn’t get to go. Katie and I will reschedule. I’m going on Wednesday. I know I’m going to go to Union Station again, if nothing but to reminisce, since besides being a fun place to go for the railfan, the shopper, and the architectural buff, which I first photographed two years ago in my appropriately-named Union Station photo set, I’ve now been to a demonstration there! The Freedom Ball was held at Union Station, and I was outside with Code Pink demonstrating. So Wednesday ought to be a fun DC trip. We’ll see what I do this time.