Our house is a mess.
I’m not talking about a few things out of place, or a little bit of dust here and there. I’m talking about boxes all around the house — some full and some empty. I’m talking dust over the furniture that is covered with STUFF. They say it has to get bad before it gets better, but seriously folks.
I want to move into a Residence Inn and stay there until the stuff magically gets packed, gets thrown away, or magically disappears. I think I will be waiting a long time.
Yesterday Court and his family stopped by. The main reason is that somehow the sprinkler system got messed up (probably in trying to improve the watering schedule and I’m not mentioning any names. The reality is, however, that neither Bill nor I could figure out how to fix it. So Court took a look at it and thinks he figured it out. Fingers crossed.
However, as they were here, we took a walk around the house to see if — and what — they might want to claim for their own before it goes away. I think we managed to find a home for our lawn mower, our lawn edger, our leaf blower (it amuses me that I’m using the word our when in fact I would never even know how to turn them on), some tools, our patio swing, our fire pit, and various other smaller items. Court was looking hungrily at my Kitchenaid Pro, but I told him, “Hands off Bud. I’m taking it along.” (If I haven’t used it in six months, it’s his. I’m not Atilla the Hun.)
We are about to call in the junk collector (800-Got Junk or a less expensive version) to start hauling away our 30 years of life. On Saturday, we made a stab at the storage room in our basement, and realized most of it will go bye-bye. Our daughter-in-law gave us some sage advice. “Don’t feel like you need to give all of the things you’re not taking with you to Goodwill. Let Got Junk take most of it. You won’t regret it.”
Boom. It’s a plan. Most of the stuff is too heavy to lift anyway.
I still need to tackle the storage room in the basement that has all of my ridiculous “can’t live without but only used once” stuff. Between that room and Bill’s office, we may just lose our minds.
Saturday, while cleaning out that storage room, I came across a box in which I had some old family relics. One of the relics was a weathered brown paper bag with words in my mother’s handwriting printed on it: Kris pony tails 1957. I opened the bag and, sure enough, there were two little blond pony tails, still in their rubber band. I can’t believe there was a time that I wasn’t gray. Here’s what I looked like shortly after those ponies were chopped off…..
I’m the one with the doll and the crooked bangs. I didn’t have long hair again until junior high.
I wonder what else I’m going to find.