All of you who know me well realize that I have a slight penchant for junk collection.

Well, maybe it isn't all that slight.

At any rate, I have started running out of storage space at my house, leading me to use some of my five overflow bins located strategically around the area. Utilizing barns and buildings, my home in Virginia and other (top secret) locations, I still do not have room to put all of my stuff.

Recently I sold about $8,000 worth of miscellaneous stuff, including a camper I didn't need, two cars I didn't need and lots of other stuff. You know, it was still hard to sell that stuff. I am not a seller, I am a collector. Collectors, by definition, collect. Therefore, selling goes against my very definition.

That having been said, I picked this past weekend to begin my most industrious project in several years: building a large wooden storage shed on my land. The shed, which actually started off as a small idea, has ended up as something else entirely as my mind took off on an unusual flight of fancy.

I have come up with a plan for a two-story structure with light panels on the roof. The first story will be used as a shop, while the second story will feature solid storage and possibly an observation deck at some later date. I had thought about a helicopter landing pad, but I don't think I'll have to worry about that for at least a while. Unless, of course, one y'all wants to trade a helicopter for a '56 Chevy....

I better not talk about that or the owners will make me pay for this column as advertising space. I don't think I can afford that, what with paying for the new building and all.

Like I said, the plan started off really simple, like they always do. A small shed built from choice scrap materials was all that I had planned. I have instead ended up with a two-story monstrosity. So far, I have the first level floor done and the second level started. I have committed, it's too late to turn back now.

The funny thing about it was that I always start some kind of ambitious project in the winter. I have all summer to do stuff like this and instead decide to begin in November.

The first day I had two fellows helping me, one of whom left near the end of the day with a real big bottle of Wild Irish Rose that he brought for dinner. He is a real good laborer for about four hours, just don't put him on a ladder. I also have to take him home, since he lost his license permanently sometime around 1968.

I think the state finally told him not to even own anything with wheels on it after he got intoxicated and wrecked his bicycle in the highway, breaking bones and such.

As for the other fellow, the sober one, he stuck it out both days, including my rapid-fire design changes. His mind works very well and he keeps my plans on kilter whenever he can. But sometimes there just isn't enough paper to figure all that mess out.

Everything was moving along pretty well on Sunday until it started snowing. The fellow helping me wasn't pleased. "Isn't this wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered," he intoned unhappily. "I was already freezing to death and now I will be wet, too."

I just listened until he said he would get his measly pay along with "a case of pneumonia with a side order of influenza." I laughed. I was trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue. The world just feels more "crisp" to me when it snows. I had rather be out in the snow than by a warm fire, and I really like to sit and watch warm fires. Perhaps I will get more done next weekend.

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