My 96-year-old father says he’s making progress organizing the garage.

The garage, it should be noted, is already pretty damn organized.

He uses recycled jars of Kosciusko mustard and Skippy peanut butter to store nails and screws of varying lengths. He’s hung and arranged wrenches and hammers and shovels.

There are ice picks and hoes and axes. There’s a catspaw and a 12-inch crowbar. There are bins of birdseed and boxes of gloves and tins of galvanized nails.

He’s gone to the effort to label hooks where he hangs everything from his grub hoe to his hacksaw.

And yet, there is always more to do.

Dad has a list of projects including cataloging his collection of beach badges that date back to the early 1970s. They are currently kept in a plastic container that once held pretzels.

Today, we dragged out a rusted farm bell that previously hung in the backyard. He wants to wire brush it and store it in the rafters.

We may need it someday.

Dad’s bucket list isn’t going to Venice or seeing the pyramids at Giza. It’s hanging the beach chairs and arranging the trowels for the garden.

Watching my dad in the garage makes me wonder if I’ll make it to that age. And if I do, whether I’ll have my own garage that requires organizing.

There’s a strong tendency to tell dad: “it’s fine” or “why not leave it alone.”

But that would be missing the point.

When you have a garage, there is always more to do.

And doing it is the point.

(Part of a series of life lessons based on conversations with my parents.)