The Storage Unit

Today was a rough day. My brother has the week off, so he and his wife offered to help dad and I clear out my parents' storage unit. My brother borrowed a trailer from their son, and we went at it.

I'm a hoarder by nature. I can see potential in things that other people might see as trash. I'm not so bad that I save old wrappers or food or moth-eaten sweaters (okay, I can still see potential in moth eaten sweaters....) but it can take me a very long time to clear out a space because I tend to want to make the most of what I'm looking through, and not send useful items to the dump/landfill. I come by this trait genetically. My dad has the same tendencies.

My sister in law is... not a hoarder. She gets going on a job and moves right through it. Dish chipped? Trash. Dirty? Trash. Not used in a long time? Donate. A box you haven't looked at in years? (It makes me panic not to open that box and look into it) So she and my brother are the perfect people for this job. They are "git 'er done!" people. I appreciate them. People like me need people like them.

The thing is, we were going through what's left of my parents' household items. Mom's clothes. Linens. Knick-knacks. Tons of collector's plates (mom believed the hype that they would only increase in value over the years... unfortunately I've seen collector plates in Goodwill for $5-10) some of which my father didn't even know mom purchased. China - some painted, some partially painted, lots of it unpainted - that mom was working on when she started to go downhill. There is a lot of emotional baggage when you are sorting through this kind of detritus. Part of me wants to hold on to it forever, the other part wants to let go.

Did I mention the mice? Yeah, the mice found the storage unit quite cozy and comfortable. Some things had to be tossed, because you can never ever get mouse smell out of stuff.

In the end, we got an unbelievable amount of stuff sorted, tossed and donated. At the end of the day, however, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. My mother really is dead. I will never see her wear those clothes or paint that china. That mom has been leaving us for a long time, but now that she is really and truly dead, gone in every sense of the word, cleaning out the storage unit makes it final.

So hard to let go. Go forward.

Reorganizing priorities. A mouthful and a mindful.

My mom is coming to live with me in 2 days. My dad will follow in a month. Changes are brewing; fermenting even as we speak.

I've given away the equivalent of 20 or more rubbermaid style totes full of fabric and batting. There is more.

As a pack-rat, or magpie, I have turned a blind eye to the accumulation of stuff for more years than I dare to count. Now that I'm pulling things out and sorting, I ask myself: how many staplers, staple removers, pens, pencils, markers, post-it notes and other office supplies does a family of four need? How about magazines? Paint brushes? Old newspapers? And am I ever going to find the piece of equipment that the little baggie of (what the heck?) metal parts belongs to? Should I really save it just in case?

The real question, a deeper one, that I ask myself now - one that helps me pare down in a big way - is this: what's more important, the thingamabobs and whatchamacallits or my parents' comfort? And the answer there is easy.

The surprising reward to all of this is that it's making my life less complicated even as I'm adding more people to my household. Who would have guessed that having less would make me happier?

So I've packed up a boxful of those art and craft supplies to go to someplace where they can be used. I'll continue to put together boxes of fabric and yarn, and toss the excess junk that no one else will want.

The Beanie Babies? Off to soldiers overseas to pass out to kids there, soon.

While I'm tossing and adjusting, I'll be around my etsy street teams less. Claying less. Just sayin'

Hugs to my loyal readers (wink wink)

Fess up. You've got 'em, too.

Please don't deny it. We all did it. Bought Beanies. Some of us had young children who begged for them. Some collected them for profit. I fall into the former category. (Yep, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!)

What you see in the picture are the latest discoveries in my quest for a simpler, clutter-free house. These were in my kitchen pantry/broom closet. They were going to be gifts. Yeah. That's it. Gifts. Another of my stories I'm sticking to.

However... it's just the tip of the iceberg. Like Tribbles in The Trouble With Tribbles episode of the original Star Trek TV show, these soft, furry/fuzzy beanbags of cuteness fall from every closet, pop up in every box... I have two grown kids, and we all loved those things.

Now I'm in the position of looking for places that we can donate them and feel good about it. Otherwise I'm stuck counting them and multiplying that number by $5 and $6 (on up) and that would feel very, very bad. (I'm keeping some bears and bunnies. For now.)

Update- I've been cleaning, sorting, and ruthlessly giving away excess belongings, as those who have been following my blog already know.

I now have a surprisingly close deadline: my mother is coming to live with us in a week, and my dad is following a couple of weeks later, along with the last three of their cats. Their furniture is coming, some of it anyway, too. At the moment the plan is to build on to our house, but it won't be done until late summer (won't start until April, at the earliest). Meanwhile mom and dad will be staying in the family room. So much to do!

I've loaded ten Rubbermaid-style plastic boxes into my van full of fabric to give away. I have many more to give away, because it's the fabric or the clay and beads. Something had to give. I can't believe how much fabric I have. I can't believe I'm nonchalantly, almost blithely giving it away. I love fabric. But I have priorities...

Don't EVER let your house get to the point mine is in!!! Take my situation as a fable, a lesson, a warning. Life is better uncluttered!