This weekend my house received a bit of an enema as, in concert, the three Robinson men removed nearly the last of my mother’s things.  Gone were the cedar chests full of bigenarian clothing with tags and scores of cloth templates for clothing most appropriately sized for the cat.  At around 11 PM the last piece was moved from my room by my dad and myself when I learned the first rule of home rearrangement: always clean out underneath any furniture before letting parents move it.

The best “discovery” was a collection of three different lubricants that’d somehow gravitated in the sartorial dustbowl.  One was a surgical lubricant I used during my failed attempts at water cooling my PC whose tube was largely taken up by the words “High Performance”.  The second vacuum grease which I suppose isn’t a lubricant but looks similar and finally my favorite, the silicone base to keep my treadmill working properly which comes in a non-descript tube simply marked “lube”, like I’d gotten the Safeway brand of KY or purchased it under the rationing of the Gulf War.

In addition, I discovered a backpacking pillow, 3 Scotch Brite sponges, the collected works of Robert W. Service and bag of 25 “Keep Pennsylvania Beautiful ’96” patches.