Follow Me On

Monday, April 22, 2013

Moving Guilt and Conversational Tangent

At this point, in my sage middle-age, I generally follow the path of least resistance. Except that really, I generally don’t.  Then all crazy, over the top outcomes are possible. 

This is creating a conundrum. I want to have the least amount of decision making possible for the looming move.  Trust me, being in a coma in my bed is probably the most helpful of my behavioral options.



My neighbor is the brave soul who agreed to be the supreme moving-ground-zero for me. (Bless her heart! Which refers to the literal and not the traditional prequalification, meaning the next line of conversation will involve something derogatory.)



The place I’m stuck at is the garage.  It has become the dumping ground for all things collected. The main factor in my inability to use the garage as a shelter for my vehicle is one, old books, two, old records and three old trunks and suitcases. 



While I don't have a box labeled "Crack Pipes" or "Whips and Chains" I do have one labeled "Bent Records."



Those of you who suffer from the obsessive nature of collecting, with an eye to upcycling, will understand. 



Tangent one: I intended for the records and the old books end up like this:  






Granted, nothing has progressed beyond the boxes of storage since the move, but the point is, it could! At any time I could suddenly say, “I think I will make something fantastic today and then sell the fantastic item on Etsy and become a Fortune 500 company.”


Tangent two: I used to sell things in a great little boutique.  The owner had me tag my items with tea stained price tags and a handwritten description and price.  One day I was at a card making party.  One of the ladies next to me said, “I think I know you from somewhere.” We did the whole where do you live, what do you do thing.  Then she starts to laugh.  “I know what it is! You sell things at Just a Bed of Roses, don’t you!  I recognize your handwriting.” Ah, the price of fame.


Tangent three: The trunks and suitcases are still around because I just really, really like them. And they can be stacked as a night stand or coffee table while storing my junk.
However, by now, I probably have enough to stack against the entire vaulted ceiling wall in the living room. (Now there’s a thought . . . shelves, anchors, hmmm)




Tangent Four: Also I have a collection of bird’s nests from each state we’ve lived in. They are all carefully labeled and stored, waiting for me to come up with a display idea.  It has to be something enclosed to keep out dust (possibly shadow boxes) but the nests also have to be stabilized so they don’t fall apart. (Any ideas?)

Tangent Five: I’m fighting a long line of hording genes. If I have learned nothing else from my depression era grandmother and thrifty mother, it is the moment you throw something away, karma makes a guarantee that you will think of some future fabulous use for that item.

Having said all of that, none of it is part of this particular conundrum. (What! You say. You made me read all of that and there is still more? Well of course. There is always more!)



My supreme moving-ground-zero wants to recruit the local Mormon guys to lift and tote and travel and carry.


My issue? I already got them to do one move in Arizona.  Is it reasonable to expect help for a non-believing agnostic with a less than zero chance of being fellowshipped back into the fold?  




If I hadn’t been raised in a church where developing an over-active guilt complex was promoted, I probably wouldn’t care so much about reciprocity. Oh the irony!

No comments :