I was talking to my husband yesterday and he casually mentioned that the landlord was coming over to look at the house. Our house is mostly clean and well-kept, it’s just that we have been moving around so much that we have tended to accumulate a certain amount stuff, mostly in boxes, right now, boxes in our garage.
No one really knows what is in those boxes. In fact, the contents of some of them have not seen daylight since August 2000, which is when we got a storage locker, which is always a bad sign for people like us. We were moving from one rental to another, one with plenty of room, but needed time to make the transition. I carefully stacked my boxes in one row along the left hand side, toward the front of the locker, reasoning that they would be accessible, and I could go through them at my leisure.
The left hand never knows what the right hand is doing. Skip took all of my boxes and shoved them in the back of the locker, and then piled things in front of them–furniture, a fishing net for dipnetting salmon, an old television set–things that were so heavy, I couldn’t move them. Although I would make periodic trips to the storage locker for the next nine years (yikes! nine years of paying rent–that’s $10,000 I wish I had today), I barely made a dent in it.
When we moved to Seattle, we left the fishing net and the television set behind and brought the boxes, which are now cluttering up the garage. Some of that stuff is mine. Some of that stuff is Skip’s and some of it belongs to our son, Tad.
Tad had a little trouble getting out of the car last week. One of those long flat big boxes had fallen over, blocking him. It was filled with toys from our move last year. Toys that he hasn’t looked at or thought about or wanted for the last twelve months. They aren’t really toys that I think anyone else would be interested in having. Maybe toys isn’t the right phrase, more like fragments of toys. Radio controlled helicopters that have lost their radios. I think you get the picture. Well, we have a whole house like that, worse in some places (the office, Tad’s bedroom, the garage). It limits me, because I don’t feel like I can have guests over, and if I don’t pare some of this excess weight down, it’s going to be a real pain the next time we have to move.
So, what I am doing is tackling the problem, one step at a time. Candy wrapper by candy wrapper. Box by box.