I'm Done

i didn't sleep much last night.  Or the night before.  Or the night before that.

Why?

The bed, for one thing.  A standard or double or full or whatever you want to call it instead of our usual queen.

Feeling enclosed.  I feel trapped in that room. Even though the door is open, I feel like I just can't breathe. It's stuffy. It's close. Maybe part of it is the bed is too small.  See comment above.

I am tired of cleaning out this house.  I am tired of sorting through piles and stacks and bags and tossing so much stuff that I ask myself "why did she keep this" over and over.

Yesterday I opened one of those big file boxes, the kind with hanging folders   Every file in the box contained another file folder.  Every file folder was full of clippings from the newspaper or magazines of....recipes.  Hundreds, no probably thousands, of recipes. Pies. Cakes. Soups. Cookies. Beef. Pork. Casseroles. Breads. Salads. Stacks of them paper clipped together and put into the folders. Handwritten notes...Try this!  Use for Thanksgiving.  Make this for Christmas.  Every one of them went into the trash bag. Even if I baked a pie a day for the rest of my life I would still have recipes for pies left.  You have to remember that I have already pitched thousands of clippings of recipes over the past three months...stuffed in a basket by the stove. Stacked on the counter. Stuffed in recipe books. Shoved in the basement cabinet in the laundry room. All in the trash.

Checkbook registers for 20 years.

Notebooks listing expenses, but such detailed ones such as each and every item purchased at Buehlers..and K-Mart...and Sears...and JCPenney.  Every meal eaten on the trip to New Orleans in 1980, the price, the total bill, and the tip (Dad did not tip very well, less than 10%).  Every sales slip and credit card slip for that trip.  Twenty brochures and stacks of postcards from that trip. All shoved in a bag, shoved behind the dresser in the front bedroom.

Obituaries clipped from the paper.  Weddings.  Engagements.  Events.  Some of the people I knew.  Some I recognized the names.  Most I couldn't figure out any connection at all to Mom or Dad.

Bags and bags and more bags of used pantry hose.  Unopened packages of panty hose. Then more bags of used panty hose.

After we started to gather them in one location, tubs and tubs of plastic candle rings and flowers and candles. Every season.  Every holiday. Every color.  Every type of flower.

57 pairs of gloves shoved in one small drawer.

Four red raincoats in the closet along with two rods full of other coats and jackets.

Over 50 umbrellas.

Drawers and drawers or embroidered pillowcases.

Hangers full of aprons.

So many packages of sheets - all full or standard or double of whatever you want to call it.

Albums and albums and more albums of greeting cards - all organized by years.

Stacks and stacks and packages and packages of unused greeting cards, never sent, yet she always said she didn't have a card to send because she had been "storm stayed" or couldn't get out or, more recently, couldn't drive anywhere to buy one.  She had tons of cards for every occasion-never sent.

Clowns and clowns and more clowns.  Figurines.  Pictures.  Wall hangings.  Calendars.  Stuffed dolls.

Room by room.  Cabinet by cabinet. Closet by closet. Drawer by drawer. China cabinet by China cabinet.  Constant purging.  Pitching. Storing in a tub for the auction.  Trash bags to the dumpster.

Yesterday we organized the upstairs.  I checked every drawer, every closet, every cabinet, under every bed.  We stacked tubs and boxes.  I swept the carpets in every room.  I had to dump the canister twice in the process because it was so full.

But through the night I kept thinking...the downstairs.  What have I not gone through yet.  Which corners still need attention.  What about the china cabinet next to the dryer? What about the shelves above the sewing machine?  There are just two more days until we give the keys to the auctioneer! How can I go through everything else?

I can't. I'm done.  Even though there have been treasures found among the trash, even though memories have surfaced that have brought smiles to my face, even though we have had some good laughs and lots of family time with the kids, I am done.  No more. I don't want to sort through any more boxes, open more drawers, or try to determine why yet another water stained purse was kept.

I am finished.  I need some sleep.  I want to go home.