2010 Cleaning

We have a lot of stuff.  Maybe I should restate that.  We have 55 years worth of my parents' stuff along with some of my stuff along with stuff I'm saving for my daughter for when she gets her own place.  It's a lot of stuff.

We've dubbed 2010 as "The Clean-Out Year."  It sounds a lot more ambitious that it is.  I've helped my mom clean out her closet.  Which is not to say it is cleaned out.  No, we've only gotten rid of stuff that she said could go.  I need someone to take her out for lunch or something so I can get my hands on the rest of the, er, stuff on her closet shelves.  You might think that my mom is the original packrat, but that wouldn't be true.  Not at all, at all.  Since my dad was a year older than her, HE is the original packrat.  At least in our family.

My dad's uh, stuff, is confined to the garage.  Did I say confined?  I must be the master of the understatement right now.  I should say my dad's stuff was um, hmm, mostly not in the house.  No, no, that's not right either.  My dad's stuff was not in, uh--well, I can't think of any room that didn't have something of my dad's in it.  Maybe my room.  Nope, I've got an industrial set of drawers in my room that he couldn't bear to get rid of when I moved back here.  So I was told to make use of it.  My daughter's room, maybe?  Let me think.  That might be a true statement, as far as it goes.  None of my dad's stuff is in my daughter's room.  BUT, in her room is access to the storage space under the eaves, which, of course, has my parents' eh, stuff.

And let's not forget that garage I mentioned.  My dad has been gone for six and a half years.  During those years, I have been throwing out junk.  Not every week, I'll grant you, but certainly most weeks, especially in the warmer months.  Now, we have a new waste management service as of a few months ago.  If we have stuff to be discarded that doesn't fit in the bin they provided, we have to call ahead and pay fees for each item.  Isn't that just precious?  So now, I'm not only hampered by time, energy, weather and my mother, but by outrageous charges to have bigger items picked up.

Four years ago we had a new roof put on.  The roofers had to remove two old roofs in order to do that.  They rented a big dumpster.  I took great advantage of that dumpster and cleaned all the junk from behind the garage.  Just so you get a clear picture of this, there were, among other things:  a roll of metal fencing (big roll!); the old metal clothesline pole with the hunk of cement he had used to secure it still attached; about a dozen or so long lead pipes (we're talking seven-foot lengths); an equal or greater number of PVC pipes in various lengths; two beat-up old metal garbage cans (probably original to the house in 1955); and an old bench that my brothers made in Boy Scouts in the '60's.  I need to describe this bench.  The back and seat were made of a half dozen 2x4's which were set into solid cement blocks shaped as the arms of the bench.  Slots had been made for the boards to fit into the arms.  Each arm weighed over 100 pounds.  Each.  More than 100 pounds.  Did I mention they were painted a delightful shade of gray?  The wooden boards had been painted yellow, but after 50 years, they were mostly gray.   I made no apologies.  All that, and more, was thrown, er, dragged into the dumpster.  Did you know that dumpsters open up at the end, like a pick-up truck?  I coralled some of the roofers to assist me and my daughter in this clean up.  I gave away an old snow blower to one roofer who wanted the motor for his kid's go-cart.  As great as that was for the yard, I forgot about all the, uh, junk still in the garage.

There are old Christmas decorations stored everywhere: in the garage; up in the loft of the garage; in two separate storage areas under the eaves; in the back room; and in the spare bedroom.  This is the culmination of my parents' 50+ years, my own decorations, my daughter's decorations and some of my sister's stuff that she couldn't bear to throw out when she moved to a galaxy far, far away.  (We have some of her garden sh-, er, stuff, too.  Because I am my parents' daughter and couldn't say no.  "Of course, I'll take it.  I think I can use it--somewhere."  That's me--a schmuck.

We're going to just store the bigger items someplace--haha--until I'm close to being done.  Then we'll rent a dumpster and spend a week filling it.  I also have to store the give-away items, bags and boxes until I either take them to a charity or have them picked up.

Anyway, I'm working on my closet right now.  Well, not right now, as, obviously, I am typing a new post.  But it's my current project.  I figured I would start upstairs, while it's still cooler, and work my way from the insides out.  I haven't even gotten half-way through it yet.  Well, I do tend to get sidetracked easily.  I found a couple boxes of photos.  Since I have a cousin doing our family history, I just had to sit down to see if there were any old pictures in there.  There were.  So I had to sit down and scan them into the computer so I could send them to my cousins.  That sparked a whole picture exchange amongst all the first cousins.  Since my dad was the oldest of eight siblings, I have a whole bunch of cousins.  See how easily I get sidetracked?

But that's my plan.  Inside to outside.  My daughter keeps telling me to set a date to be finished.  A date that can be re-evaluated as it gets closer.  I try to tell that setting a deadline only makes me nervous and worry.  So, to appease her, I said the end of this year.  I have to focus on one project at a time.  Today, it's my closet.  Next will be the other closet upstairs.  Then the areas under the eaves.  Then we move onto the downstairs.  I think I'm hyperventilating!  Okay, just think about my closet.  One day at a time.  Sweet Jesus!   I'm going to go have a panic attack now.