Loft Side Story

Preface
Today, my Dad and I shared some quality time cleaning out part of his barn. Those of you who know my family are aware that this is not a place to shelter beloved farm animals, but rather, a 3,000 sq. ft. storage unit. The main level houses four old cars, a hydraulic lift, and every tool you can imagine. I'm not kidding when I say, "If you need it, he probably has it." Upstairs, you'll find rows of well organized, floor to ceiling shelves of.... the only word for it is "stuff". Extra toilet paper and paper towels from Costco, Christmas decorations, toy trucks that my Dad played with as a child, magazines, tires, car parts.... stuff upon stuff upon stuff. So, today, we tackled the loft above the second floor. No one has touched it in years, except for the time my Dad had to go up there and fix the roof; a project which also proved helpful in evicting some undesirable raccoon tenants. The idea of running into critters or anything gross made me hesitant to go in the loft, but my Dad needed the help, and my knees handle all the crawling better than his. So, up I went.



Loft Side Story and Other Quotable Moments
It was not pleasant up there, but we were efficient in clearing out some initial boxes. Many of them were empty and just needed to be recycled. Score! Then, I came across mouse droppings.

Me: "Dad! There's mouse crap up here! Shouldn't I be wearing a mask or something so I don't breathe it in?"
Dad: "Oh, I've been breathing mouse crap for years and I'm fine!" (goes to get me a mask and a little vacuum anyway)

Several boxes later, I opened a box that had chew marks on the outside and swear I saw something move. I screamed. I shut the box and crawled away from it. My Dad came up the ladder a ways and asked what happened.

Me: "I think there's a mouse in that one. I HATE mice, Dad! (tearing up) I don't like running into them at all."
Dad (completely serious): "Can I get you a machete?"
Me: "Noooo! What would I do with a machete?"
Dad: "Protect yourself from the mice. That's what I brought with me when I thought the raccoons might still be up there."
Me: "I am not going to cut up any mice. Can you get me something to use as a shield?"

My Dad disappeared for a few moments and came back with a baseball bat and a long-handled mallet.

Dad: "See? The long handles on both so you don't have to get close when you beat them away."
Me: "If there were any mice up here, they've probably gone into hiding because of all the screaming and vacuuming, right?"
Dad: "No, it's like West Side Story. The little mouse gang is hiding behind that old Apple computer box, just waiting for you. They've got their little mouse machetes and they're ready for action."



Conclusion
A few hours later, we had a very clean loft and a truckload of stuff to either throw away or give away. I'm proud of us - for many reasons. Thank You, God, for everyday adventures and for a Dad who finds the humor in mouse crap.