I deliberately say Stuff with a capital S because in this household, Stuff is a bit of an ambiguous deity. Very important to have, regardless of what it is. So here, it deserves a capital letter because it is the solver of all problems, yet cannot be truly identified or explained; and much like Him upstairs, nobody knows how it got there or why, but it’s reassuring to have, and talk to in times of need.
I’m just going to say it.
Stuff drives me crazy.
And one of them is more like a hangar.
So, for the sake of my sanity and some space, we needed to clear all the Stuff out of the Goat House so we could use it as a utility room for a big fridge, washing machine, surfboards and wetsuits, coats and boots, and eventually, maybe even become a little workshop for whatever the heck I end up doing.
But the Stuff kept coming back! As a master of unfinished tasks, Rob is not a good one for clearing up after himself, and I am reluctant to touch the Stuff because what may look like a bag of rusty nails to you and I, and practically everybody else, may be the exact bag of rusty nails that was needed for that exact job he started six months ago. All hell breaks loose when some of his carefully discarded Stuff goes missing.
The Stuff is gone for now, not thrown out but moved to somewhere I don’t have to look at it or step on it with bare feet. However, it did come into its own in creating this legendary Guinea Pig Castle, so I can’t complain too much of its omnipresence. Also on the plus side, it keeps him busy, and is cheaper than a hobby like golfing, drones or polo, and is more useful and attractive than being a pro at Call of Duty. Amen to that.