Purge, purge, purge.
Looks like the new house is a go. Anything can happen in three weeks, of course, but at this point, we’re looking good on both ends. We won’t jump and move right away. I need to do just a couple of things over at the new place, and it will be easier to do it without us actually living there.
Plus, I need to get this house ready, which actually stresses me out more than anything. I think about how bitchy I’ve been about Future House - I’m all like umm…there’s a .343 mm chip in the paint in the back corner of the basement bathroom…take care of that, ‘mkay? ..and I just KNOW I really need to list this place as AS IS, PEOPLE. AS IS. JUST FREAKIN’ BUY IT.
So I’m sort of taking my time, but at the same time, Getting Stuff Done. Our parish has a huge rummage sale at their Fourth of July festival, so that’s an incentive to inspire me. Every day, I fill up the back of my car with more stuff, and ah, it feels so good. I just love getting rid of stuff.
Longish-term readers will know that this has been a theme for a good while. After Mike & I got married – two middle aged bookish people with similar interests – I spent a couple of years purging books. Then after Mike died, there was that, and then my father died, and as an only child, I immediately became the repository of Everything. And I live in a house with three closets and one of those sketchy basements no one likes to enter. (Built in 1928)
So you’d think by now, I would hardly have anything left. Once I move into the new place, which is larger, has a very good, livable basement and many more closets (having been built in 1958), I predict it will seem that way. And that’s good. I’m not an acquisitive person anyway, but as the mother of five and only child of deceased parents, I have accumulated quite a bit of stuff, mostly against my will. What’s interesting is one’s changing view of the stuff. Objects that seem absolutely necessary at one point, items which seem to hold whatever hints of personal identity it would be possible for a material object to hold, gradually lose that necessity. Seriously. You realize, I could keep this forever, but he/she/they still won’t be here. Huh.
Plus, now my adult children are getting settled enough to take back their own stuff. I spent part of this evening going through school papers and artwork that my now 30-year old son produced in grammar school and boxing it up to present to him when he visits on Saturday (and if he reads this, he probably won’t show up now…). My second oldest son is married and I have a box of children’s picture books ready..for when they’re ready.
After dealing with the aftermath of death twice in recent years, I am so determined to not leave a hassle for my kids when I go. Not only is everything legally tied up in a bow, I want my material life to be as simple as possible so that when the time comes (hopefully not for a while, but still), no one throws up their hands and despairs, “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH ALL THIS STUFF?”
And moving provides a great opportunity to continue down that road.
I will miss my present neighborhood. It’s a great neighborhood – so great that Patricia Heaton has even been in the ‘hood filming a movie! Just six blocks away!
But the new neighborhood – only about a mile away – will be good too. And when I tell you what sold me on the house – aside from the street full of boys and the already-present basketball goal – you will laugh. Well, some of you will laugh. But some of you will nod and say, “I get it, guhl. I would have made an offer based on that, too.”
But for that, you’ll have to wait.
I have a second cousin who has a ranch in Texas. He asked me if I was thinking about a visit. I asked him if he was thinking about starting a boarding school, maybe?
Oh, we went to New Orleans last weekend. Just a quick trip. I guess I will rouse myself to write about it on the other blog, but what’s pertinent here is that we went to Sunday Mass at St. Patrick’s downtown. A wonderful liturgy, Mass in the Extraordinary Form, as they say. A diverse congregation, from veils to jeans. Reverent, relaxed and unfussy. Fantastic music, of course. For the first time in ages in a Mass with an organ, I could hear the human voice – both schola and congregation.
And had a GREAT meal here. Even with the over-enthusiastic, possibly drunk woman who kept shouting, ‘I HAVE TO TAKE YOUR PICTURE, CHEF I’M GONNA SEND IT TO FOOD NETWORK COME HERE CHEF NO LET ME GO INTO THE KITCHEN CHEF YEAH STAND THERE SO I CAN TAKE YOUR PICTURE AND SEND IT TO GUY FIERI. I’M GONNA DO IT I SWEAR I’M GONNA SEND IT TO GUY FIERI.”
Here’s a good prayer:
From here. Found on a shelf and not purged.
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