My daughter, my angel

I don’t know how anyone downsizes out of the big family home alone. The job is immense and takes five times longer than you could possibly imagine.

My daughter has been here for four days – left her usual job as Household Administrator and Sanitation Engineer in Oakland, California so she could perform a ramped-up version of the same duties with me in Vancouver, Washington.

I kiss the ground on which she walks.

Together we have sorted, tossed and packed unbelievable amounts of stuff.  Evidently my belongings were stored under pressure, because when a cabinet door is opened, its contents explode into a heap fifty times the size of the cabinet dimensions. Kind of like one of those paper-thin sponges when you add water.

I have this thing about like being packed with like. Kitchen pots with kitchen pots. Sweaters with sweaters. Tstchotchkes with tstchotckes. This makes packing a challenge, especially for volunteer help who just want to get the stuff stuffed.

My daughter notes, correctly, that when you pack really heavy kitchen pots you need something light and fluffy to cushion and fill the box so it is still carryable. So I have pots and sweaters in a box, tstchotckes and towels in a box, books and undies in a box.

You get the idea. Like with unlike. The boxes are labeled, but not so specifically that I could actually find the blue sweater without searching through all the boxes in which sweaters may be the only cushioning material.

Boxes are now piled in every room. Goodwill is better off too. I sure hope I have sufficient storage space!

Despite all this concerted effort, when Heather leaves tonight I’ll still have days of work ahead.

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2 Comments

Filed under 101 Reasons to Downsize, Downsizing, Family issues, Getting organized, Storage

2 responses to “My daughter, my angel

  1. What are tstchotckes? Are they sentimental bric-a-brac? I also have some of those incredible exploding cupboards.

  2. It’s a yiddish word which I’ve probably misspelled – and yes, it’s sentimental bric-a-brac.

    It’s the enemy of a peaceful dust-free environment. Often ugly but loaded with meaning.

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