The first load went out for auction yesterday. It feels a little weird. I decided against keeping furniture other than the corner shelf and a little bench. But then, the auction didn’t want the upstairs living room furniture so, since I don’t want it either, it gets donated. I’d take it, I guess, if Charlie wouldn’t just destroy it.
This picture of the upstairs pile of boxes doesn’t seem to me to really show the real volume. The 8 x 16 trailer was completely filled with the boxes and bedroom and dining room furniture. There’s still more for them to pick up upstairs – and of course downstairs.
There’s just something strange about people hauling away the iron stove lamps (they have little pans and stuff) that I played with as a little girl. I thought about keeping them but couldn’t imagine a space where I would want to have them. But now someone else will have them. And that feels weird.
Still, we need to clean the upstairs, finish a few things and get the trash furniture hauled away. And I’m going to have the carpet in the bathroom (who does that?) replaced with vinyl or something. It smells so bad that I if I were looking at the house I would walk right out. But it’s about time to list it. I hate living in a house that is on the market but that’s the way it goes.
It’s hard for me to express, it just feels weird. Maybe because of the finality. I mean, when I started cleaning out the upstairs – and the downstairs for that matter – after Dad went into the nursing home, I didn’t throw away some things on the slight chance that Dad might come home again. I suppose that the furniture and stuff leaving the house kind of means that they aren’t ever coming home.
And that it’s not my home anymore, either.