Vaughn and the Giant Squid

I live with 2 packrats. If I weren’t married to Dave, I would be convinced that Vaughn was a changeling swapped out by a hoarding rodent. Unfortunately, there is too much genetic evidence to deny the origins of Vaughn’s squirreling proclivities. Lest I'm being remiss in conveying the scope of Dave’s obsession, an example of "Something I might have use for later," includes an electric razor, minus the head, that has long since gone on to Norelco Nirvana, with globs of whiskers still clinging to its razor skeleton. This was one of the many priceless treasures that, much to Vaughn's delight, his daddy allowed him to collect from the seemingly endless treasure trove that is otherwise known as our basement. It is a veritable packrat Utopia, our basement. Vaughn's enthusiasm could not be curbed as he collected the various "supplies" that would be needed to contribute to his current invention-- *big movie announcer voice with reverb* "The Giant Squid Catcher." *Catcher,Catcher, Catcher, Catcher* Other essentials were discarded nylon clothes line, the handle from an old garden shovel (with chipping red lead paint), an old shower head (the kind that detach so you can get to those hard to reach places, you know who you are), and other sundries soon to be buried in what I like to call Dante's 1st Circle of Hell--"I am the way into the city of woe," a.k.a., Limbo, a.k.a. Vaughn's room.

Hunting squid is just the latest in Vaughn's phases. Let's see, first there were trains, and that went on for a good 2-3 years or so, long enough to have collected a plethora of all things trainlike that are now collecting dust in various locations in our home. There was a brief dalliance with racecars which somehow morphed into a fascination with all things oceanic. Now, he has chosen to focus his research and specialize in the Giant Squid--a noble calling.

Happily, his basement hunting expedition fulfilled 2 of his main tools that he had on his list for the construction of his Giant Squid Catcher, and yes, he had a list. I believe it read something like this--"Baskits rop." The fact that he scored a gaudy fake gold toilet paper dispenser out of his basement foray was purely a fortunate happenstance.

He has now informed me that he and Daddy will be heading out on a second basement pilgrimage tomorrow, something I await with bated breath. Perhaps he’ll uncover the missing toilet seat that matches the gold toilet paper dispenser—the Holy Grail, as it were, of the basement tomb.