TheBanyanTree: Handicapped Parking and Clutter

[Margaret R. Kramer]

Gosh, way back when, Ray got a handicapped parking permit.  And I’ll tell
you, nothing is as nice as one of those babies.  Well, it is for the
non-handicapped person.  Because the handicapped person obviously is
handicapped in some way in order to have a doctor sign for one of those.

Ray got his when he was diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.  He
was having a difficult time breathing and walking, so his physician approved
a sticker for him.  When it came in the mail, he made a copy for my car, so
it was always with us no matter what car we used.

I’ll tell you, that sticker got us into a lot of tight parking places.  When
a venue was packed and there were no vacant parking spots, a handicapped
spot was always available, and we pulled right in with the blue card hanging
from the rearview mirror.

After Ray died, I knew that the handicapped stickers were good until April
2009.  I looked at it as a last gift from Ray, and I used that baby no
matter where I went.  It is such a luxury to always have an empty spot right
in front of the door.  Yes, I know it’s illegal, but I didn’t care.

A few weeks ago, I got a card from the State of Minnesota to renew Ray’s
handicapped parking.  Oh, it was so tempting to fill out the card and forge
Ray’s signature and get another sticker for the next few years.  But my
honest nature won out and I shredded the card so I wouldn’t be tempted to
fill it out and mail it in.

The clock turned from April into May 2009, and I’ve made it through my first
week without being able to park in a handicapped spot.  And I’ve survived
walking a few extra feet to the door and walking a few extra few feet back
to my car.  

I haven’t had the challenge yet of going to a really crowded venue and not
having to search or wait for a parking spot yet.  I know I’ll miss the
handicapped sticker then.

May 9 must have been designated as the ultimate clean up day or something.
The Postal Union was having its annual food shelf drive.  All we have to do
is leave a bag or box of food to be donated to a local food shelf by our
mailbox and the postal carrier will pick up when delivering the mail.

I did this last year and was able to get rid of some of Ray’s food that he
liked, but I didn’t.  This year, it gave me a chance to go through my food
cupboard again and get rid of more food.  I still feel like I buy groceries
for Ray and me, but I found when I threw out the old food and reorganized
the new food, that I actually freed up a shelf in my cupboard.  My hoard of
food wasn’t out of control and it’s an appropriate amount for one person.

And today was also our neighborhood clean-up day.  It’s a chance to clean
out garages and basements of crap that we hoard for no reason.  I loaded up
the flower van with old computer monitors, a keyboard, a foot massager, an
old stereo amplifier, fluorescent lights, a VCR, printers, phones, and cell
phones, a broken storage cabinet, and other stuff.

Last, but not least, was my grandmother’s portable sewing machine.  It was
made by Sears and it’s probably 50 years old or something.  I’m not much a
sewer, so I rarely used it, but Ray would not let me throw it out.  I tried
several times, but he always found it and dragged it back to the garage.  I
think he used it once.

Well, I got my revenge on Ray today, and brought it to the neighborhood
clean-up site.  It was just taking up space in the garage and why keep
something I wasn’t using?  I was afraid it would follow me back home, but it
didn’t! 

Before Ray came to live with me back in 1998, I got my house ready so he
would have room for his stuff.  My garage at that time was cluttered with
old smelly furniture, junk, and crap.  I cleaned it out and hired a garbage
company to pick up the stuff.

My garage was pristine.  Sparkling.  Magical.

Then Ray came.  And he was a secret packrat.  Over the years, he filled the
garage with his tools and workbench.  His projects.  His “finds.”  “They
were going to throw it away,” he’d tell me.  And soon the garage was packed
full with so much stuff that there was just enough room for to park my car.

It took TWO full sized dumpsters to clean it out when we were preparing the
house for sale.

Ray didn’t live long enough to fill up this over-sized double garage with a
second floor.  Oh, but he would have eventually, I’m sure.  All that empty
space just waiting for “finds.”  As it is, I have enough wood to build
another house.  And I certainly have every tool known to man.

I dislike clutter, so the garage is gradually shifting from to Ray’s style
to mine.  I guess that’s what happens when you die.  Life keeps moving on
and changing without you.  Until your presence on this earth is almost
obliterated except in the memories of those who loved you.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com
www.polarispublications.com

Gone - flitted away,
Taken the stars from the night and the sun
>From the day!
Gone, and a cloud in my heart. 
-Alfred Tennyson