The Horrible, Terrible, Awful Purge

So, when the Bean and her crew of family movers pitched in to transport the remaining stuff from one house to another, our 3rd floor suddenly became a huge storage pile of boxes and such, and pretty much took over the bulk of the space.  It’s really only one huge room with a couple of auxiliary rooms for storage and a bathroom.  There are two large worktables, a bunch of chairs, a bed, and a TV up there as well as some organized sewing space, but… well, now there also is a heap of stuff that reminds us of a hoarder’s nest, though it didn’t start here and is at least contained.  It’s possibly junk-ish stuff, at least in part, and we expect that a lot of it will be donated or literally trashed.  It certainly can’t stay here if she is ever to use the space again.

So the boxes and bins have all been piled rather haphazardly up there since late June, passively waiting for the Bean to attend to all of them.  The clever transporters did leave walking spaces around the heap of boxes, so it’s somewhat maneuverable. The Bean, having made it through two summer trips (one a convention, one a carving), a serious illness, two separate house guests, and most recently hosted Hitty Club, is now free to do something about this pile of stuff.  And she has a plan.

She says, where there’s a will, there’s a way, though both of us (she has enlisted Smidge  to help her) have some doubts.  It’s a LOT of stuff, and she’s only one handicapped old woman.  I suspect Smidge is there to offer moral support and encouragement. This is going to be a long-term process.  However, in addition to a daily scheduled plan of attack, Bean has a pecking order and sorting method laid out in her mind, if not on paper.

And Bean’s new motto is, “It may just be trash.”

She will move into the disaster zone, poor Smidge in tow, on Monday, October 2.  Let’s just say that if you don’t hear from either of them on Facebook within a reasonable amount of time, there’s every possibility that one or more of them have been buried under the heap.  Smidge plans to have her Pinkmost Cell strapped to her little person so she can call for back-up if needed.

But in any case, if you don’t hear from them, please send help…with shovels.


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