This morning, in a fit of sheer insanity, and with no prior intent of doing so, I set out to organize the contents of our garage by myself. You see, when Trey and I moved into our apartment, we rented a garage as a storage space (way cheaper than any other self storage we found, and it’s on site. perfect). Well, on move-in day, the movers just tossed stuff in there with no rhyme or reason. Basically, it looked really full, but nothing was stacked very high and there were lots of “holes” that you could walk through. Since then, Trey and I have off-handedly mentioned that “we ought to go work on the garage sometime” in the vague and distant and entirely optional future. But this morning, for some inexplicable reason, I decided to go for it.
Initially, I thought I would just go assess the situation. Maybe assemble the metal shelving unit so I could stack Christmas decorations on it. Maybe just make a clear pathway from front to back. Maybe just stare at it vacantly and become overwhelmed by the ridiculously daunting task. I packed a cooler of snacks (a couple Dr Peppers, an orange, some poptarts, water) and hopped in my car to drive across the apartment complex to our little garage. As luck would have it, there was a vacant parking space right in front of our garage…AND the sun was coming up behind another building, casting a shadow over the garage door opening. Thanks for looking out for me God, that was awesome.
Well, most people who know me know that I love nesting. I love rearranging trinkets and picture frames and furniture that is entirely too big for me to be attempting to move on my own. Good think I’m “freakishly strong for a girl.” So of course I didn’t just assess the situation. I dove in head first.
A side story:
I have a windchime that I love. We bought it at World Market. It’s basically a stick with colored glass bottles hanging from it. But when the wind hits it just right, and you hear the tinkling of the little wooden beads hitting the sides of those glass bottles, it almost sounds like someone tapping their champagne glass with their fork to get the attention of everyone in the reception hall so they can offer a toast. Every time the wind blew, it was like a little toast: Here’s to Leslie, she’s fantastic! Here’s to the Hendons, may they live a long and happy life together! Here’s to life! Cheers!
When we decided on our apartment in San Antonio, we opted for floor plan with the bigger living room, forfeiting a porch or patio. “Why do you need a porch in Texas?” Trey asked, “It’ll be way to hot to ever sit outside anyway.” He was right, but I was still a little sad that there’d be nowhere to hang my windchime. In hindsight, we made the right choice. We have entirely too much furniture to have gone for a smaller living room with a porch just so I’d have somewhere to hang my windchime. It, along with the love seat, the pump organ, the elliptical, the Christmas decorations, and a hundred other things that we decided we could live without for a year, ended up in the garage.
So, as I was shifting and lifting, stacking and unstacking, wiggling and hefting the contents of our poorly packed garage, I discovered a strangely labeled box: Windshine. Very Fragile.
Windshine? Oh, WINDSHINE! In his haste (or maybe because he really thought that’s what they’re called), the mover labeled the box with my World Market Windchime incorrectly. I think it’s the most glorious word mistake I’ve ever heard. Even more glorious than misheard lyrics (“What’s love Dr. Doo, Dr. Doolittle?”). In fact, the misnomer made me smile all morning. AND it put to mind one of my favorite songs:
“Soul Shine, it’s better than sunshine. Better than moonshine. Damn sure better than rain.
Now people don’t mind, we all feel this way sometimes, you gotta let your soul shine, shine till the break of day.”
– Government Mule