It's spring cleaning time, and I refuse to allow my house to be a refuse refuge any longer.

Does anyone remember the television comedy 'Roc'?

The show, which starred Charles S. Dutton, was about the life of a simple man who worked as a garbage collector. He and his wife, Eleanor, shared their home with Roc's retired father and out-of-work, musician-by-trade, brother.

Roc didn't have much, but he was happy. Each day he made his life a little brighter by finding "perks" along his trash route which he immediately brought home.

"This is a perfectly good lamp," he would tell his wife as he brushed away a stray lettuce leaf and handed her a birthday present. "I don't know why people throw away this kind of stuff -- but I'm glad they do."

Eleanor would just look at him and roll her eyes as she gingerly accepted her present and looked for the least conspicuous place to put it.

Although the show has long since been canceled, I now feel Eleanor's pain. You see, I am married to a real-life Roc.

Now, my Roc doesn't necessarily go around piddling in other people's trash for perks. No, he just happens upon them as people are considering changes to their household.

Patrick's always there at the right time, which means at various times I've inherited about 10 televisions, six chairs, a desk and various other things nobody else wanted but which my husband felt might be of some use at some point in the future.

"This is a perfectly good television," he will say as he brings in a floor-model monstrosity that looks as if it's made at least one person very angry. "I can put it in the He-Man-Woman-Haters-Club (that's his special name for our basement) and play my video game."

Well, that might work if it wasn't for the fact that our basement is only half-finished and the television's picture is fuzzier than my unadjusted eyesight.

Not that Patrick doesn't do good sometimes. We've got a 23-inch television (TVs are his special gift) that somebody who was moving gave him money to haul away. I laughed when he brought it home because it didn't work, but the last laugh was on me because it only cost $40 to fix.

We can't figure out the code to make the universal remote work, but the TV has outlasted a lot of other stuff at our house.

The problem is that I'm running out of places to hide, er, put things. The He-Man-Woman-Haters-Club is becoming overrun with old, ugly furniture and any stereo equipment my Dad was able to pawn off on Patrick when my mom made HIM throw it out.

It doesn't help that I'm also a pack rat, but my thing is paper as opposed to other stuff. I just have a hard time throwing away any paperwork because I never know when I might need it again.

I'm tired of pushing stuff around, however, and I'm ready to make a change. Patrick has been forewarned that he's going to have to find some other way to occupy his time because we're spring-cleaning this year and I refuse to allow my house to be his refuse refuge any longer.

I have every intention of taking the city up on its offer to carry away whatever I sit out there during the Citywide Clean Up.

It's me against the Rocs of the world next week, and in my opinion, they can have the pick of our perks.