Toys in the Attic ...

... or maybe just stems and seeds.

Let me first tell the backstory on this.

Because we still owned a car in the United State (unable to sell it before I left for reasons that are just a little too complicated to go into) the Werbenmanjensens needed to trip down I-95 to Maryland, where our car was being held by our neighbors. To go into the old neighborhood was an out-of-body experience by itself, so we might have some observations on that later. In any case, we learned something delightful about the house we owned for three years.

The woman who sold the house to us was the original owner. She and her ex-husband had divorced rather bitterly sometime after buying the house, although I'm not quite clear on the timeline. Whatever the timeline, the husband "left in kind of a hurry," as our neighbor put it over drinks and dinner on Sunday night.

Now, when we owned the house, we were two people with lots of space, which meant storage of our goods was rather easy. Can't find space for some stuff? Hey, there's an unused room in the basement! So we never actually went up into the attic. That's not technically true. I went up there twice: Once during the inspection and another time that resulted in a hole through the ceiling of a bedroom. I never noticed anything up there.

So we learn that our buyers had somebody by to do some work that involved the attic. The workers found a box up there, labeled with our seller's husband's name. Inside were some clothes ... and a little marijuana.

Yes, you heard me right: Marijuana. Wacky weed. Grass, tea, mary jane, weed, pot, etc.

In our attic.

For three years.

As somebody quickly pointed out, it's lucky the movers never went up there, given their propensity to pack stuff we meant to throw away. Who knows what would have happened when that reached customs ...