Sunday was one of those rare, picture-perfect hot summer days in Spokane, the sort of day you dream about when December rolls around and you’re cold and shivering and trying to remove the snotcicles that are dangling out of your nose. At least I heard that Sunday was great. I have little firsthand knowledge due to the fact that I was stuck in the cobwebby recesses of my dimly lit basement, preoccupied by things like empty pill bottles that were issued in 1967 to my grandmother, now long departed. “How’d we end up with these?” I asked my lovely wife, Sherry. The answer, alas, is as lost as the current whereabouts of Amelia Earhart. In our near-40 years of marriage we have managed to accumulate an unholy amount of Clarkian crapola. Because of this, we spent sunny Sunday in a sweaty subterranean cleaning frenzy/Doug Clark, SR. More here.

Question: Are you a hoarder?