My blogs will be sporadic for the next few months. My brain and time are focused on two major issues. Thankfully neither one is a matter of life nor death, but they are the kind that drive me to eat. Our home of 35 years has sold, we hope. In today’s market, until the sellers leave the closing table with a check in hand, nothing is a done deal. Still, Hubby and I must be positive, and pack. We have four weeks to go, and it is time. We also still have not finalized on the home we hope to buy.
Today we decided to start with the front bedroom This means opening dresser drawers that were once my sons’, but since he moved out years ago, they’ve become receptacles for goodies long forgotten. The same is true for the closet. “What are these old 33’s doing here?” I asked Hubby this morning.
“I want them. They’re collectors’ albums,” he said.
“Where are we going to keep them?” I asked.
“Get rid of some of your stuff, too,” he retorted.
“My junk is valuable, unlike yours,” I quipped.
Books I want, he says are silly, and the ones he wants, he hasn’t looked at in years. I thought we would need two cartons for photo albums, and we ended up needing seven. Friends who have done this “downsizing” move warned me to use small cartons so we can pick them up. We thought the cartons were small, but still could barely lift them.
My granddaughter asked me to please pack the stuffed animals and the blocks. “My brother still plays with them – and the riding toys.”
That’s what I get for asking. I really thought she’d tell me they were all too old for little kids’ toys.
After four hours, I opened a cabinet I thought was empty. It was stuffed with envelopes of duplicate pictures, pictures from cruises, and drawings my kids and grandkids made for us. I knew I had several choices. Go through them and dump what should be dumped, put them in a carton as is, or quit for the day. Since I am now typing this, you know what I decided.