Hoarder's Dynamite

I like to say that my dad was a little bit of a hoarder.  I don't want people to picture those folks on TV with the garbage and feces in their homes.  Adding "a little bit" seems to soften the description slightly. But as we're sorting through the detritus that made up my dad's life, we have found a lot of trash.  He kept every birthday, anniversary, Valentine's Day card anyone ever gave him.  He kept reel to reel sex videos and graphic playing cards.  He kept tools (4-5 of every tool) some still in their boxes, never used.  And that's just in his office!

My dad was a kid during the depression.  His go-to line when we asked why he was keeping an item was, "I might need it."  Never mind that he had enough money to buy anything he might need in the future.  Never mind that no one could walk through his office to talk to him or clean it.  Nevermind that no one could find anything in their except him.

What kept my dad as "a little bit" of a hoarder was my mom.  She limited where he could put his treasures.  He had his office in the house the barn and outbuildings, and a six car garage that also held a 45' boat (one winter).  There is only one complete car in the entire garage and no boat.  It is full of stuff, mostly tools and equipment and car parts.  The ceilings are very high and the stuff almost reaches it in many places.

Before the dementia, he knew where everything was.  He had a system.  He could find anything you wanted.  But as the dementia took over, his system fell apart.  We now know where nothing is.  He did not leave us directions about what was worth keeping, what was worth money, or what we should do with any of it.  His only comment about all of his stuff came when he was 95 and mom tried to convince him to start selling some of it.  He said,"It took me a hundred years to collect all of this stuff.  I'm keeping it."

But, he couldn't take it with him.  So we are left to try to figure out what to do with all of it.  We started with the office.  Mom wanted to be able to use the desk.  Our first goal was to make a path to the desk.  That took a couple of hours.  On my last visit, mom and I spent 3 hours every night sorting through the stuff on top of the desk.  It took us 4 days to get to the beautiful oak desk top.  That's 12 hours in case you don't feel like doing the math just to find the top of the desk.  A lot of it was trash.  At least once every day, one of us would ask, "Why did he even keep this?"

On this trip, Cassidy and I are helping Mom clean out the drawers of the desk, one of the closets, and the rest of the office.  My job is to go into the room with Mom's Penn State tray and load it with stuff.  I give it to Cassidy who sits on the sofa and gives Mom one item at a time.  (Cassidy wasn't too excited when she discovered the graphic playing cards by accident!)  Mom decides if the item is trash, donate, keep, or something she wants to give to a specific person.  When she decides, she gives it to me and I put it in the specified area.

Last Friday when we were going through the closet, Mom warned me that she had seen some dynamite in there.  She said she was going to give it to her brother Greg.  When I found the six red sticks, I placed them in Uncle Greg's box and went back for more stuff.  After a while, I came across a box of blasting caps.  This was not surprising because my dad was a well driller.  He also built a  lot of structures and dug a few ditches in his time.  We didn't question the fact that these items were in his closet.  We didn't worry for our safety because Dad wouldn't have kept anything dangerous in the house, right?

In the middle of our sorting, Uncle Greg called.  He talked to my mom for a while and then he asked to speak with me.  This is not something we do often, although we probably should.  He started out by telling me that not only did he not want the dynamite, we should not move it because it could be unstable.  Since we had already moved it into the box on the living room floor, it was a little late for that advice, but I left the blasting caps in the closet.  He told us to call the state police and they would come and get it.

We believed him, but we weren't really that concerned because it had been in the house for probably 50 years.  We said, "Dad wouldn't have it in there if it wasn't safe."

So the dynamite sat in the box on the living room floor all weekend.  We didn't want to trouble to police over the weekend.  We decided to call them on Monday.  Meanwhile, Cassidy and the dog played in the living room every day.  Luna bumped the box quite often and every time we said, "Maybe we should move it."  But, Uncle Greg had said not to move it so we left it where it was.

Finally, late Monday morning, Mom called the State Police and told them what we had found.  They asked a lot of questions and told us to get out of the house immediately.

But it was cold and raining and there is nowhere to go because of social distancing.  We didn't think the car in the carport attached to the house was really much safer than sitting in the back room so we stayed there until the police arrived 20 minuted later.

Boy!  Did the police arrive!

They brought 5 trooper SUV's, a state police truck, and the bomb squad!  I tried to describe to the first trooper where the items were, but it's an old house that's been added onto many times.  It's a little like a maze if you're not used to it.  So he asked me to show him where it was.  He walked exaggeratedly soft through the kitchen and the hallway to the doorway of the living room.  He clearly did not want to enter the living room so I pointed to the tan box with the dynamite in it.  Then I pointed to the mirror next to the office door and told him the blasting caps were about the only thing in the small office closet. As we walked toward the back door, he said, "It was good you called.  Old dynamite can explode if it gets wet."  Then his eyes were drawn out the window at the rain and worry crossed his partner's face.

Mom, daughter, and dog had already headed out to Mom's car.  The police told them they had to go somewhere.  I asked "Where?  They can't be around people."

The officer answered patiently, "It doesn't really matter, but away from here."

I had to go to the yoga studio to teach my first online yoga class so I suggested they go to the Spaeder's driveway.  Our neighbors are very kind and they wouldn't mind her parking there.  My mom lives in the country.  Everyone knows everyone else on our road.  But, shortly after they got parked, the police came over and told them to move farther away.

They drove another quarter mile to the Osborn's driveway.  They are wonderful people who kept offering to let them come in.  They offered them food, too.  But in the current conditions, Mom thought it was better if they just stayed in the car,  The police went to all of the neighbors and asked them to evacuate.

While they were waiting, Cassidy saw her first eagle.  She said it was beautiful and she sent me a picture.

Cassidy, Mom, and the dog sat for several hours in the car before the police called and asked them to come back to the farm.  Because of our sorted piles of Dad's stuff and the way the house is situated, they weren't able to use the robot.  But, they said that the dynamite wasn't dynamite.  It was just unmarked road flares.  However, the blasting caps were real.  And it turns out that old blasting caps are more dangerous than old dynamite because it can spontaneously explode.  They said they've had several accidents with blasting caps.  It won't blow up your house by itself, but it could hurt or kill the person who moved it.

That's me, by the way.  I'm the one that moved them from one shelf to another.

They asked Mom some questions and then explained their plan.  "We're going to blow up your bad stuff with our good stuff."  They sent Mom and Cassidy back to the Osborn's, very disappointed that it wasn't all over already.  They went back to waiting until they heard a loud explosion in the field behind the house.  They thought they would get to go back home, but no word came from the police so they waited more.  When a second explosion was loud enough to drown out Mom's country music, they were sure they'd get to go home.

After another half hour, the police finally called them home, but the trooper blocking the end of the road hadn't gotten the message.  Mom waited, not so patiently for him to move.  They finally arrived home, hungry and desperately needing a restroom.  Mom had quite an angry conversation with Dad's picture asking him why he would put us all in danger like that.  He did not answer, but she's sure he's sorry.