... or gigantic closet, that serves as a backyard shed, full of things not wanted, but too valuable to throw away. We all have some of that, right? Either filling a closet, or junk drawer in the kitchen, where little oddments go to languish until you are forced to sort and discard. Due to moving, or when someone literally dies and leaves other people the task or sorting and eliminating. This seems to be the situation I have been facing for recent weeks, forced to be that person.
When the auntie relocated, very much against her will, about eighteen months ago, I did not have the thought that I would be the person responsible for all her worldly goods. I was so astounded and amazed that she had been pried loose from the place she was established, somehow it never occurred to me who was going to be sorting a lifetime of her belongings. That consideration gradually crept up on me, with 'decision time' now leaning forward, staring me in the eyeballs. I have been there in her house twice since the first of October, emptying closets, deciding, sorting, listing, boxing, loading, hauling, donating. Eight trips to various thrift shops later, plus two loads of boxes filled with books donated to the Friends of Library resale store. One more day devoted to the last of the accumulated miscellanea, and the end is in sight.
The person who owns the auction business has been to look a couple of times, and claims to feel that most of what remains will sell. I am profoundly doubtful, supremely unconvinced that buyers will look at some of the items she proposes to list on an on-line site (Professionalauctioneer.com) will find buyers. I fully expect much of what remains will suffer the indignity the in-between step: being donated to Goodwill for public consumption. I have been pretty ruthless thus far, able to part with many things that do have some value - or would for the person who wanted another 'this' or needs a 'that'. Easy to do when you have no personal investment or sentimental attachment to the article in question.
I believe I can get finished in one more day, will have the bulk of the undesirables donated with another trip to Valdosta. There are several boxes that might present a challenge, as they are cartons stacked high, marked 'Christmas'. I expect they will have handiwork created by my grandmother, and be filled with items that I will not be able to so casually load up for the donation bin. The things discovered thus far that were obviously products of my talented grandma's hands have been relocated to relatives, distributed to cousins who were geographically distant and did not have the hometown connection I did over the years. I have enough of the lovingly, devotedly produced crochet snowflakes and carefully tediously hand-stitched embroidery, monograms on sweaters to satisfy. If the cousins do not care to own the handiwork, they can do as they please: trash, donate, or pass along to the next generation to decide.
I recall the auntie reporting some years ago that she had been going through closets, cleaning out, sorting and making an effort to get rid of some items she felt should go. I remember hearing something similar from my mom many years ago, referring to an attic that had been filled over fifty years of living in one place. I am thankful beyond words that these siblings did make that effort. Two more trips to donate should wrap this up, now that I am down to yard tools, boxes of Christmas decor., cans of paint and haz-mat products. The chemical items will have to stored until recycle day comes around again, but the rest headed for donation bin. That said: there is still a way to go, to get the auntie's belongings sorted and finish the removal project.
Don't even ask me about the attic in my parents home! A memorial left to the memory of the man who built the house from the hand-dug trenches for a foundation of concrete blocks, laid row upon row all the way to the rafters supporting the now-illegal asbestos shingles and brick chimney. The attic still containing things I continue to ignore. An acre of land he devoted his adult life to enhancing, making livable, a place where he could sit in the late afternoon shade of the pine trees and enjoy his one cold beer...
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