Dehydrated Memories

Last year I didn't decorate for Christmas until December 23rd, so I'm getting an early start this year.  Good thing too because it's not easy locating the Christmas stuff in the storage room.  I have to use logic to determine whether or not the items in the box are holiday decorations or the actual item that is pictured on the box.   For example:

There's a box for diapers.  Despite my recent blog about my sister, no one in this house has actually worn diapers since the 80's.  Jackpot!  It's Christmas ornaments.  

There's a box for Asian pears- a lot of them apparently.  No matter how inventive the Asians are, it's unlikely their fruit could last this long.  Jackpot!  It's a wreath.  

There's a box for a 1970's popcorn maker.  Now who actually owns a 1970's popcorn maker?  Oh.  Apparently we do.  

I also finally located our Thanksgiving decorations, not that I had looked for them.  The centerpiece should be the turkey, not a clay pilgrim holding a rolling pin.  That doesn't even make sense.  Is she trying to clobber the paper mache turkeys?  I can't blame her.  They're hideous.  

There is also a bunch of camping gear crammed in.  I put the inner tube in the box where the giant wreath goes because it looks silly.  We blew up the tube in the 90's and it was such a chore that we keep it that way.  Otherwise we would have to buy something to blow it up in the future and we stopped buying camping gear when I became old enough to say, "Hell no."  Family camping trips were our yearly attempts at bonding through forced togetherness.  Apparently it works for skin heads and gang bangers in boot camp.  But not the Adams.  

Behind all the camping gear, way in the back, was the food dehydrator that I had begged for.  After a week of nonstop pooping, someone took it and hid it from me.  It was a small price to pay for watermelon jerky, in my opinion.  

And guess what was in the food dehydrator?  Asian pears.  Huh.  Apparently they can last this long.