It's Sweet We Did This Before We Died
Yep.
We could have left all this trash and all these gewgaws and all this important memorabilia from events we can't remember, we could have left it right where it was so that all the kids could parcel it out after our deaths.
This would have been an attractive plan, given that we'd then not have to parcel it out ourselves, except that 1) then we couldn't move into Bear's Retreat, and 2) it were wrong.
So we're sorting everything into the house into varied boxes: give away, garage sale, eBay, put in attic, actually use. It's -- as you all know unless you're REALLY young and haven't had to do this yet in your blessed life -- a drag.
So I'm especially grateful for helpful bloggers' entries.
Such as, for instance, the running commentary over at Going Jesus, wherein Sara, who's about a week further into the process from hell than I am, has been amusing me by whining and complaining about it and being funny in the process. As are we, she's having trouble with all the -- dust -- revealed under The Stuff:
Breathing sucks. I've stirred up a ton of dust this week, plus we discovered some lovely new hidden mold deposits behind the CD cabinet that was bolted to the wall. I'm probably under investigation for using more sudafed than a meth lab. I'm out on the porch right now trying to breathe some clean-ish Oakland air.
And Ryan, who was already an Important Star in my little mental constellations, has raised her value to me immensely by discovering Freddie Robbins, a knitting artist who knits, well, knitted objects that are Very Different. Ryan's found a lot of them, and enumerated them for your edification.
But the very best, as far as I'm concerned, are the knitted tea cosies which resemble the homes of female mass murderers.
Oh, my.
We could have left all this trash and all these gewgaws and all this important memorabilia from events we can't remember, we could have left it right where it was so that all the kids could parcel it out after our deaths.
This would have been an attractive plan, given that we'd then not have to parcel it out ourselves, except that 1) then we couldn't move into Bear's Retreat, and 2) it were wrong.
So we're sorting everything into the house into varied boxes: give away, garage sale, eBay, put in attic, actually use. It's -- as you all know unless you're REALLY young and haven't had to do this yet in your blessed life -- a drag.
So I'm especially grateful for helpful bloggers' entries.
Such as, for instance, the running commentary over at Going Jesus, wherein Sara, who's about a week further into the process from hell than I am, has been amusing me by whining and complaining about it and being funny in the process. As are we, she's having trouble with all the -- dust -- revealed under The Stuff:
Breathing sucks. I've stirred up a ton of dust this week, plus we discovered some lovely new hidden mold deposits behind the CD cabinet that was bolted to the wall. I'm probably under investigation for using more sudafed than a meth lab. I'm out on the porch right now trying to breathe some clean-ish Oakland air.
And Ryan, who was already an Important Star in my little mental constellations, has raised her value to me immensely by discovering Freddie Robbins, a knitting artist who knits, well, knitted objects that are Very Different. Ryan's found a lot of them, and enumerated them for your edification.
But the very best, as far as I'm concerned, are the knitted tea cosies which resemble the homes of female mass murderers.
Oh, my.
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