Biohazards

I turned 67 last Sunday. I got to have a backyard visit with a handful of important-to-me people, including Molly and Josh. PT brought a cake in my favorite color.

I also had a Zoom chat with my Chico family. Eleni adorned herself appropriately for the occasion.

This week I got to spend even more time at the dentist. She used a drill that was the loudest and most bone-rattling of any I’ve ever experienced. More tooth and gum fun to follow next week.

On to yesterday’s tale of woe: the good thing is that I had half a box of cat litter on hand, left over from my recent time with Elliott and Midnight. The bad thing is that I needed it.

I shall explain, but first, some context: For many years, I’ve had a formidable and onerous task hanging over my head: that of cleaning out my basement. The place has been jammed with possessions that I’ve clung to since college and that have accompanied me through every move (too many to count) since 1975: 

  • All my cassette and reel-to-reel tapes from my NPR producer days
  • Grannie’s and other beloved dead people’s clothing
  • Car-camping and backpacking supplies
  • Notebooks and binders filled with my old writing projects (however, I did shred every one of my journals a long time ago)
  • Various workshop tools and miscellaneous hardware
  • Halloween costumes I’d made for Eleni and Molly when they were little
  • Hairpieces and glittery things from my Irish dance performing and competition days
  • An array of fancy river rafting gear
  • More vintage motion lamps (I’d given lots to Goodwill years before)
  • Electronics and about twenty of Dad’s and my ancient film cameras

I could go on and on. 

Nights, I’d lie awake worrying about how to deal with it all, and about what my kids would do if I kicked off before I tackled it. But I kept putting it off.

[I searched the Internet for attribution and copyright information for this cartoon, with no luck. I hope it’s okay to put it on Bloggy, where posts are set to “search engines discouraged.”]

I don’t know what possessed me last week to undertake the project. I imagine the seed of inspiration was planted when a neighbor hosted a free paper-shredding event nearby. For that, I extracted from the bowels of my basement a carload’s worth of tax documents dating back as far as the late ‘90s. I felt so virtuous after they were gone that I pondered the possibility of tackling just a box of junk a day. There were easily thirty of them down there. So I made the leap, and little by little I chipped away, picking up momentum as the days passed. Soon my driveway was lined with unwanted items too big for the trash. I made two trips to Goodwill with my car crammed full. (To my profound displeasure, I learned that this particular Goodwill won’t take lamps, cameras or a bunch of other nice stuff I brought, so I reluctantly had to dump all that into bins at the adjacent recycling center.) Back at home, I set several pieces of furniture out on the curb with “Free” signs attached, since that’s easier than trying to sell them. They all vanished literally within minutes.

Interestingly, out of all of these mountains of paraphernalia, only two objects turned out to have any value at all, beyond sentiment: my old Otari reel-to-reel tape recorder, and a 1957 Leica M3, both of which I plan to try to sell soon.

But what about the cat litter, you ask? I’m getting there. Finally, yesterday, I was coming down the home stretch. One obstacle remained: figuring out what to do with the toxic materials that had been accumulating since I moved here in 1997, including various poisons and dozens of gallons of paint, most of which pre-dated my tenure at this house. I did some online research and found a place in Oakland that accepts all that, made an appointment, and started hauling it into my car. I was almost done when I reached for a container of motor oil and one of liquid bug killer. Suddenly, in my grip, the plastic bottles both splintered, spewing the contents all over my clothes and the floor. The two solutions hit the concrete, mingling into a wide river that coursed like a flash flood ten feet toward and into my new sump pump. I said some very bad things, loudly, and stared at the chaos for a couple seconds before springing into action. I tore upstairs with several goals: to remove my contaminant-sodden clothes, wipe down my slimy skin, find something else to wear, and grab the cat litter from the closet. Still swearing, I returned to the scene of the disaster and dumped it all on the spill. 

Next I started the laundry through with hot water and lots of bleach, and that went fine until, at the very end of the 1.5-hour cycle, the not-very-old washing machine up and died. I’m not sure, but I’m guessing I issued a few more choice words. Half an hour later I did get it working again, at least temporarily. The fancy new Arc’teryx jacket that Molly bought me survived the accident, with only moderate injury, but my beloved slippers didn’t make it.

When (rather, if) the rains come this fall, I will find out if the sump pump still works or if the oil has congealed in its workings, which will in turn cause my finished basement room to flood. Time will tell. Nothing I can do for it now.

At 6:00 this morning (after getting up shortly after 4:00) I went to sweep up the cat-litter mess in preparation for my trip to the toxic waste disposal place this afternoon, and found that the remaining oil had gnawed through the plastic bag I’d thrown it in, so a new puddle had blossomed on the floor.

But the day soon got so much better. Around 11:00, my dear cousins from the Salinas area arrived Chez Ginna for a long-awaited visit. Molly joined the party an hour later. We had all planned to get together a year ago last February, but we know why that never came to pass. It was a true joy to spend time with them again. They’re fascinating and funny: great company. Since I am both incompetent and unhappy in the kitchen, we ordered Thai takeout from around the corner and ate at the dining room table that Small sent west in April. When it came time to part ways, it was hard to let them go.

Shortly after their departure, Molly headed home (with the suggestion that I pop by her place later) and I aimed my laden car through heavy traffic to the Alameda County Household Hazardous Waste Collection Facility in West Oakland. Immediately upon my arrival, an efficient team of strong and enthusiastic men swooped in and relieved my Subaru of every single bit of its hazardous cargo, despite online warnings that they could take only so much at a time. I was surprised, and thrilled out of proportion to what I had actually accomplished. It’s just that this task has been weighing on me since I was in my early forties. I clearly deserve an award for procrastination. Now all that remains of my basement challenge is to schedule a bulky-waste pickup and haul everything in the driveway, along with that heap on the left, to the curb:

In my elated state, I surprised myself by taking Molly up on her impromptu idea (I’m rarely spontaneous these days) and had a brief but lovely supplemental visit, welcomed by Phryne.

I have written way too much. Bye.

4 comments

  1. I loved the account — but not the fact –of your hazardous mishap. Kitty litter was a good idea to try to absorb the mess. Claas and Whitney look wonderful!

  2. I LOVE Eleni’s birthday hat!

    Which Halloween costumes have you turned up?

    You are such a productive gal! Very impressive!!!!

  3. Molly: The Halloween costumes include: a bunny rabbit, a skunk princess (made by Small), a prairie girl, a lightning bug, a ladybug, and a gypsy queen.

  4. Somehow I hadn’t read this before I saw you Monday. YIKES to the toxic spill!

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