Day Nine

At home near Fort Worth, Texas...

The weather was way too gorgeous today to be holed up in the house packing boxes. Yet there I was, zig-zagging around, trying to decide (with the final verdict coming from you-know-who) what goes to the kids, what goes to storage and what goes to trash. The trash is easy--I just toss it in the big trash can and, when full, tie up the bag and take it to the curb. Since this upheaval began, the garbage truck has picked up twelve huge bags that were packed as full as possible without breaking, like these:

In addition to that, the recycling truck picked up two huge bins, like this one:

The question has to be: If there was this much stuff in the house that we don't need and weren't using, why are we just now tossing it?

Okay, as I write this, I am mindful that this is the second time I have posted photos of garbage in this blog; this is beginning to concern me. Am I slowly going batty? Will nightmares be next? I think I'm paying way too much attention to this. 

But before I call over to Terrell (nearest town with an asylum) to have myself picked up, I think a little self-analysis is in order (pausing and stroking my chin, as if I had a beard). Okay, here is the diagnosis: My obsession with trash is due to two things: 1) I was weaned too early [I use this to explain most of my neuroses] and 2) keeping track of the trash helps validate that I am making some degree of progress--progress that is not always discernible amid the rest of the chaos. Pretty good, huh?

Let's just go with that; no need to call the asylum, after all.

Walking back into the house, this is what I see--boxes everywhere:

And in the attic:

Is it any wonder that I need the comfort of seeing the trash go out?

I can just see some of you fulltimers out there (you know who you are) who have already done this and are barely able to contain your glee as I wade through all the junk that we should have gotten rid of long ago. Go ahead and enjoy your smugness...you deserve it. But I'll remember.

Phannie's belly compartments and Mae's cargo area are rapidly filling with stuff that's going to the kids. We've sent them lots of cell phone photos of things we think they might want, and we put it in their boxes. (But we also toss in things we don't ask about, figuring they can get rid of them if they wish. Don't tell them.)

Sandy has spent the last two days shredding papers with sensitive information; I don't think she ever wants to see a shredder again.

The new vessel sink will be installed in the guest bathroom tomorrow, and Carlos will be here next weekend to do a final cleanup of the yard. After that, the listing goes live. We will be in Houston, wondering.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; please forgive me if I don't appreciate it enough each day.