The attic where I live

Last night we got into the attic.

To be precise, my wife got in the attic and I held the ladder. To be honest, I have never liked our attic. It has never had that homey feel that one wants from their attic.

Our attic is as old as the house and is dusty and hot and full of creepy things that I don't much care for and would rather not believe share the same address with me. That's why my wife was in the attic and I was manning the ladder. However, I did take what she picked up and passed it down to our son who was on the floor making disgusting faces.

I only screamed once and that was when I thought a bat was escaping through the portal. It was just a piece of black plastic from a rotting garbage bag. But as it fell, it gave the impression of being a bat disturbed from its nest.

I can stand toe to toe with intemperate deacons, but put a flying bug in my zone of personal space and I have been known to freak out. We all have our Achilles's heal and one of mine is bugs that fly and can sting. I once exercised an extreme amount of energy for a man my age when I discovered a spider in my bed. We had been jetting around Eastern Europe making home visits with missionaries when I fell into this inviting bed. I just as quickly jumped out when I saw the spider. In my youth, such a jump would have garnered an Olympic medal, but at this advanced age, it simply represented safety from a creepy, crawly thing in my bed.

So, we passed down years of memories. My grandmother's old make-up case and set of luggage. She died when she was 97 and that was back in 198? Then there was my luggage, given to me by my parents when I graduated from high school. My dad used to tell people, "I gave each one of my sons luggage when they graduated from high school and none of them took the hint!" Several boxes of records dating back to the 1980's which bore witness to my phobia of the IRS.

And then there were the boy's clothes. It puzzled both my wife and I why our sons' middle school clothes should be stashed in the attic, but perhaps we planned to let them live up there unless their bedrooms looked less like an attic and more like living space.

And finally there was the last item. I don't remember what it was because it dumped dirt down the back of my shirt.

Up to that point, it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, holding the ladder, I mean!