Find Me A Stage, I Have Something to Say —MED
October 10, 2018

Attic Unload

Nothing sparked my interest on the morning news broadcasts this morning. It may just be I am physically tired. I have spent the last two days on and off in our attic. We are fortunate to have a home with a very large attic. Some may say having a large attic is a curse. A dumping ground for everything and anything we have accumulated. Don’t throw it away put it in the attic in case we need, the kids may use it at some point, maybe we will have a garage sale … The stuff keeps multiplying.

Recently we have witnessed several friends of our go through their stuff with lighting speed throwing away more than they wanted too. Their homes went up for sale through the process of downsizing only to be sold in a day. The front yard for sale sign changed to sold in an instant but the cleanout marathon was just firing up. Panic is invoked and herculean strength exhibited as our friends were left to move out family treasures. We watched as long gone family member’s 100 year old furniture graced the curbside for a short time until scavengers scoped them up. The 40 year old kindergarten artwork that their children had bestowed on them shredded. Who has time for sentiment? Rapid Cleanout should be a trending hash tag for the over 50 set.

My husband and I have already started the downsizing conversation. I am unemployed at the moment so I figured I could get a jump on the cleanout starting with the attic. I have already gone through my little Picasso’s artwork, the shredded worked overtime. I have been digging into storage bins that have not been opened in years. Yesterday I found a wicker hamper with dingy, ugly lace curtains, what was I thinking? Who wants outdated dusty window curtains and a random shower curtain? Exactly what my kids would say if they were forced to cleanout our stuff. My daughter would roll her eyes and exclaim, “They are awful”! They were but I would never it admit it. I tripped over a box tightly packed to find inside 8 glasses from a set that we retired long ago. Into the donation pile they go. In a tender moment I discovered a needle point my grandmother had completed but not framed. Tears spilled. Tossed the outdated college and grad school books, doubt my kids would be interested in Re-Assurance or Intermediate accounting from 30 years ago.

High school mementoes all neatly packed away are calling my name but the voice is muffled by the bins upon bins of my daughter’s stuff, approximately 20. There are beanie babies, dolls and doll houses, Barbie’s sweet hot pink jeep, junk teenagers save and college stuff. On past occasions she has been reluctant to take her stuff. It is time. I am not going for mother of the year hear just an empty attic. My daughter is praying for a Rapid Cleanout or perhaps I should call it, Frustrated Parent Cleanout, in which we give up. Thus prompting her father to throw it all away without any emotional attachment, lighting speed to the curb. My thought, after providing free storage space for years, the least our daughter and her spouse can do it cart the unwanted treasures to the curb. Sweet justice will prevail; get a storage unit at top dollar or face the realization that it is time to clean up your stuff. Our son wisely took his stuff when he moved out, opting to rent a storage unit keeping control over his treasures. He has one box of childhood toys abandon under a corner cobweb. Hopefully it will squeeze into the storage unit. I will cut him some slack, it is just one box.

The front yard will display a for sale sign as I am dragging the last of the unwanted treasures to the curb. Minimalist movement here we come. No rapid cleanout for us. Honestly we can live without the old bed linens from the kid’s stay at sleep away camp. Again what the heck was I thinking!!! I need another garbage can.
Thank you for your time. Hope you smiled for a moment.

The words shared above are my express opinion upon watching the October 10, 2018 morning news shows. My words are meant to raise a level of awareness not malice.

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