I collect yarn and beaches.  My yarn is in plastic storage bins and on shelves.  Some skeins are in baskets or knitting bags on half-finished projects.  My beaches are in small square plastic boxes.  They fill several shelves in a bookcase by the front door.  I have beaches from all over the world that friends have brought back and a few I have collected myself.  When I feel trapped and wish I could travel, I’ll take out a beach and think about where it came from, the Strait of Magellan or the Thames River in London.  I love them!

My husband, on the other hand, collects dead vehicles.  They don’t store as easily as a ball of yarn.  I cannot imagine that they could give him the pleasure of far-away places.  I cannot fathom why he even wants them.  I could tell you stories of each one, but I could do that without having them in our yard.  For years he has promised to get rid of them.  Only one has left in the past 10 years: the one that he promised would never end up here. It was the only one that I had no story for.  He had bought it to salvage the motor, nothing more.  So it sat for only 2 years with no motor before he finally got it towed away.  So today, he drove his old dump truck out to the back of the yard.  I have spent the day feeling edgy and frustrated.  Then I finally realized why.  He has added another piece to his collection.  He canceled the insurance several months ago because he wasn’t using it enough to warrant paying for insurance. I should have seen the warning signs.  I don’t know what I could have done though.  He is very determined to keep them all for whatever reasons he has.

I can’t help but wonder, is this penance for something? I must have done something really bad to be saddled with this! I want to draw up a Death with Dignity contract for his cars, trucks and vans.  No heroic measures, no prolonged years in limbo.  Let them die and bury them properly in some junk yard, but please, not in the yard anymore!