Almost finished
By Mike on Sunday 20 July 2008, 23:10 - Journal - Permalink
Greg, Rachel and I finally seem to be near the end of sifting through all our
parents' belongings. The tops of wardrobes and the spaces behind them have been
checked, and items have been fished out from where they were poked - under
furniture, between books (knives seem to like it there), and on the tops of
cupboards.
It has been more of the same unbelievable redundancy. My father at one time had eighteen belt buckles in addition to those already on belts but still he bought another, and so now one item in the garage sale is a box of 19 belt buckles. We finally delved into the photographs, which I had stored in crates and a large leather suitcase. I found half a dozen Super 8 films dad made, mainly of Greg and I. These will be, I expect, some of our most sentimental discoveries. We have also found the Super 8 projector and screen, and our old slide projector too. The number of photographs runs well into the thousands - most of them never even having been looked at other than the quick cursory glance they would have received when first processed.
Another item of interest was an orange blanket still in the plastic bag the dry cleaners had covered it with. The dry cleaning ticket was inside. The point of interest is that the blanket went into the cleaners on 18 July 1977, and was picked up on 23 July 1977, a few days later. Then, for 31 years, it remained unopened and unused.
We have half-filled the second skip with rubbish. Most good items have been placed in roughly germane groups around the house. Of the books, I have selected all the old ones, which belonged either to dad or mum's dad, both focussed on self-education in their different ways: grandad's books tend to be encyclopedia, and practical guides, dad's are more like textbooks in engineering and mathematics. The remaining four-fifths of the books can all go, as far as we are concerned. They are worn and dusty paperback novels, none of which we shall be reading again, or ever. I rescued all the old records, both 33 and 45 formats. Mum and dad once belonged to a record club and chose records from the catalogue fairly regularly, it seems. They also bought for us many stories on 45s, and we listened to these repeatedly and delightedly as children.
Having worked all the afternoon we returned to Greg's place for dinner. It was a good way to end a job that had once seemed endless. We have only two further steps to take: remove the few items of furniture we are keeping in the family (which will happen mid-week), and then sell as much as we can of the remaining things next Saturday.
With luck, a great proportion of these belongings will be dispersed through the local neighbourhoods, perhaps to enjoy a second life, perhaps not, and we shall be able to put a couple of thousand dollars into mum and dad's bank account; a small fraction of what it cost to buy all these mostly unused things, and a tiny fraction of what would have been there had the money never been spent. In hindsight, their way of doing things seems very odd, but I expect at the time it all made some sort of sense.
It has been more of the same unbelievable redundancy. My father at one time had eighteen belt buckles in addition to those already on belts but still he bought another, and so now one item in the garage sale is a box of 19 belt buckles. We finally delved into the photographs, which I had stored in crates and a large leather suitcase. I found half a dozen Super 8 films dad made, mainly of Greg and I. These will be, I expect, some of our most sentimental discoveries. We have also found the Super 8 projector and screen, and our old slide projector too. The number of photographs runs well into the thousands - most of them never even having been looked at other than the quick cursory glance they would have received when first processed.
Another item of interest was an orange blanket still in the plastic bag the dry cleaners had covered it with. The dry cleaning ticket was inside. The point of interest is that the blanket went into the cleaners on 18 July 1977, and was picked up on 23 July 1977, a few days later. Then, for 31 years, it remained unopened and unused.
We have half-filled the second skip with rubbish. Most good items have been placed in roughly germane groups around the house. Of the books, I have selected all the old ones, which belonged either to dad or mum's dad, both focussed on self-education in their different ways: grandad's books tend to be encyclopedia, and practical guides, dad's are more like textbooks in engineering and mathematics. The remaining four-fifths of the books can all go, as far as we are concerned. They are worn and dusty paperback novels, none of which we shall be reading again, or ever. I rescued all the old records, both 33 and 45 formats. Mum and dad once belonged to a record club and chose records from the catalogue fairly regularly, it seems. They also bought for us many stories on 45s, and we listened to these repeatedly and delightedly as children.
Having worked all the afternoon we returned to Greg's place for dinner. It was a good way to end a job that had once seemed endless. We have only two further steps to take: remove the few items of furniture we are keeping in the family (which will happen mid-week), and then sell as much as we can of the remaining things next Saturday.
With luck, a great proportion of these belongings will be dispersed through the local neighbourhoods, perhaps to enjoy a second life, perhaps not, and we shall be able to put a couple of thousand dollars into mum and dad's bank account; a small fraction of what it cost to buy all these mostly unused things, and a tiny fraction of what would have been there had the money never been spent. In hindsight, their way of doing things seems very odd, but I expect at the time it all made some sort of sense.
Comments
This brings back memories of clearing out Auntie Elsie's flat (from the other side of the family) a few years ago. Tens of unopened soap packs, £350 in old fivers stuffed in a jar in the garage and my particular favourite 8 3litre bottles of lemonade still unopened bought several years previously.
Maybe it's an old age thing, you forget what you've bought but the need to buy it remains strong. Or maybe it's genetic, I've certainly got vast quantities of stuff I never use, and that's despite moving house every couple of years, and rationalising everything.