Last Friday, my aunt and I started the task of going through my mom’s belongings. Apparently, that has inspired me to get my own house in order while I was at it.
Which is ironic. Since when a family friend passed away several years ago (he was a Depression-era kid, so he took the phrase “lifetime supply” to a whole new level) I’ll always remember my mom saying that digging out his house convinced her that she’d never have that much STUFF. And that nobody would have to go through anything like that when she died.
The before pictures are really embarrassing, but I’ll give you a taste. This was standing in the doorway of the room. Not one inch of clear counters, I had stuff stacked all over the bench and even on top of the shafts of my loom. Sad Panda all around.
If you looked towards the front wall, you could see the mess of crap near the front window. What you can’t really see is that there were no clear footpaths anywhere in the entire room. It was a broken ankle waiting to happen.
See? Scary. And slightly humiliating. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you how long it’s looked like this.
My wonderful friend Dianne sacrificed her Saturday night to come and help me tackle this room. I fed her Chinese food, gave her a skein of sock yarn, and called that her salary for the evening. By the time she left, the countertops were almost clear, and I was already starting to sort the many bins of yarn, project bags, “miscellaneous,” and weaving supplies.
Here’s most of the trash that came out. Two huge trash bags. Progress!
By bedtime on Sunday, I was done. And when I came downstairs on Monday morning, I walked into this room and had to smile.
And I have to tell you, I could feel my mom’s approval. I did it. I tackled the weaving room, and I won.
The best part? It makes me feel like I’m capable of fixing the basement, too.