Thursday, May 28, 2009

One man’s junk could be a son’s treasure

Now that spring is here, everyone in the neighborhood except for me has been cleaning out their houses and putting their old stuff out on the curb to be recycled.

That’s where the Zich boys step in. My sons are avid recyclers and spend much of their free time dragging home other people’s junk to furnish our basement.

Last weekend, a coffee table made its way home with Jimmy. I was immediately suspicious when he came in Sunday evening and described a “perfectly good table” someone had left by their trash.

“It’s not even scratched,“ he said and then went on to tell me of his plans to turn the table into a bench.

“Wait!“ I interrupted. “You haven’t even gotten my permission to bring it home,“ I said.

Suddenly my talkative son couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Where is it?“ I asked him.

I knew the answer before he told me the table was already in the basement.

Because I was tired and it was late, I let it go instead of insisting the table go back where it came from.

Less than 48 hours later, two giant speakers had found their way across the neighborhood and to our garage.

I must take control of the situation before the next sunny weekend arrives and our house becomes even more of a magnet for other people’s junk.

With yard sale season in full swing, I’m in for a challenge. Jimmy, Tommy and Ronnie wait until mid-afternoon when the sales are winding down and unwanted items go for free.
Ratty old stuffed animals are Tommy’s weakness. We still have a brown, fuzzy critter that belonged to our neighbors in Pennsylvania.

For the past three years, he’s been a member of our household and goes by the name “Dennis.“

Jimmy and Ronnie prefer the bigger items and are willing to recruit friends to help them carry the really heavy stuff.

They usually try the same strategy Jimmy used with the couch: bring it home first and ask later.

Although I can be a pushover, everyone has their own limits and I found mine last year when they brought home a typewriter.

It wasn’t a portable typewriter like the kind I took to college with me in 1985. The typewriter my boys lugged up our hill in their red wagon was a former business machine from someone’s office.

It weighed a ton and had been sitting in my basement for three days before they got up the nerve to tell me about it.

None of them knew what to do with it; they just figured it had to be good for something. I insisted they lug it out to the curb before anyone could attempt an explanation.

That’s the same thing I will have to do with the coffee table, the speakers and whatever else comes home with them over the next couple of weekends. The boys usually don’t even notice when the stuff
is gone.

If, on the other hand, they put some effort into actually reusing what they have brought home, the stuff could be around for a while.

Dennis has hung around long enough to be loved, which proves there is hope for the junk that makes its way into our home.

But that table’s days are numbered.

(Zich is a military spouse who lives in Springfield, Va. You may e-mail her at , or visit her Web site, http://www.lifeonthehomefront.com.)