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Saturday, Aug. 22, 2009

Debbie Croft: My family attic -- no, it's not junk

In Ruth Bell Graham's book, "Legacy of a Pack Rat," she tells how year after year, her husband insisted she clean out the attic.

All that junk -- just clean it out and burn it. You'll never use it, he'd say.

But it wasn't junk. It was her legacy. Their legacy ... Newspaper clippings, school mementos, old love letters, boxes of photographs and enough old suitcases to open a used luggage shop. She called it a veritable treasure trove of disorganized surprises.

And when it was time to write a book about Reverend Graham's ministry life, guess where they went to find the material -- to the attic.

My husband and I have had a few discussions about our attic, too. It's literally packed with stuff, enough stuff to fill the second floor of an old barn. But it's not a pretty sight. More like something you'd see in The Munsters -- dusty, a little creepy and full of cobwebs and country critters. (They must think because they were here first, they have squatters' rights.)

The possessions we've stored upstairs are a unique accumulation of useable stuff. Some of it may be akin to junk, but most of it is valuable to some degree, even if for sentiment's sake. There are, of course, 40-plus years of photos from both sides of the family, Ron's tools, toys the kids have outgrown, precious mementos, some old furniture and antiques waiting their turn to fill a cozy niche and even still a few unpacked boxes from our move.

In all the years we've lived here, I dread having to go up to the attic for anything. Partly due to the dust, and partly because it's just a reminder of how much work it will be when we finally get around to cleaning it. You know: out of sight, out of mind.

So I avoid that part of the house as much as possible.

But at some point last year, about the time of our camping trip to Mono Hot Springs, I realized that the attic has become a big part of our lives. Because every time something special is about to take place, it almost always involves heading up the stairs to the attic.

Naturally, our camping equipment is stored up there ... sleeping bags, lanterns, fold-away chairs and such... before the trip and afterward, too, it's up the stairs we go ...

We don't have enough old suitcases to open a luggage shop, but for out-of-town trips to visit friends and relatives, we head back upstairs again.

Gardening supplies and chainsaws are kept up there, so every time the season changes, there's something to take up or bring down from the attic.

Midway through each summer, it means lugging down the plastic bins of school books to see what can still be used, and what should be ordered anew for schooling at home.

Whenever I get the chance to decorate or remodel a room, it's up to the attic for joint compound and paint supplies.

When No. 1 son is home for a visit, he and his dad usually end up in the attic to lift weights and talk about guy things.

And, of course, as the holidays approach, our daughter can't wait to bring the decorations down from the attic, for putting together Thanksgiving table centerpieces or to decorate the Christmas tree.

Lately, instead of dreading the trip upstairs, I've come to enjoy it. No longer viewed as a storeroom for leftover junk, I see it for what it really is:

A penthouse apartment-home for starlings, and a place filled with treasured family memories and heirlooms.

Debbie Croft writes about life in the foothill communities. She can be reached at composed@tds.net, or at her Sun-Star blog: City Girl, Country Life.