Angels/Devils on the Shoulders

 Before I put fingers to keyboard, my writing process begins with, well, processing--preparing to release a blog  for public consumption.  I consume concepts first, usually over and over again because as something bubbles up for consideration, it can bring a friend or two along, muddying the process.  The thoughts hanging in there may be knocked aside, buried for good or simply fermenting until their place is found within the maelstrom whirling in my feeble brain.  And forget about finding the correct word--aging is an exercise in staring out the window at the bird feeder, opening up the portals until a faint click sets me off in what I hope is the right direction.  For example: foment? ferment? fragment? furry? flatulent? flaggellate?

This blog, then, has been in process since early last fall when decided to move forward with what had been, until then, simply a topic of conversation.  Internally.  With each other.  With friends, family, others of a certain age.  We watched, we listened, we learned.  Dan got hit by a car.  Finally, we called our realtor "just to see what he thought the house might be worth."  "Just to see how much work we would need to do if we were to put the house on the market."  "Just for the heck of it."  End result: we signed a listing agreement with the understanding that the house wouldn't go on the MLS until February at the earliest.  I had no interest in limiting how I Christmas my house for the sake of staging, so with a pocket listing (if the realtor had a client interested in a property similar to ours, we agreed it could be shown and sold), we committed to, at some juncture in the future, making this our former residence.

Before the holidays kicked into high gear, the stager came over, wandered through the house with us.  In my opinion, she didn't tell me a whole lot that I didn't already know.  C'mon, people--how many episodes of Million Dollar Listing (both LA and NY); House Hunters (national and international); Property Brothers; Love It or List It and, my favorite, My Lottery Dream Home have I watched?  Clearly too many.  I'll admit that, when scrolling through properties online, I react viscerally to the homes on both end of the staging spectrum.  Some reflect that the current owners haven't put anything away the entire time they lived there.  Others are staged to within an inch of their square footage (dead give away--the shawl type blanket draped diagonally on the end of the bed).  Before the stager rendered her advice/opinion, I anticipated we'd need to paint the common spaces and touch up woodwork.  8 grandchildren.  Little people bang up the walls.  The wood floors in a few rooms require sanding and refinishing.  And anything that smacks of you and the 35 plus years you lived in your home has to go.  Closets emptied.  Some furniture out.

We're ahead of the downsizing game because over the past decade, we've engaged in three significant, multiple dumpster sized purges.  Dan's home office stored copious vestiges of his years with Cluts, O'Brien, Strother and, to our surprise, mass quantities of memorabilia predominantly assigned to the four children.  (Only astonishing because I believed it had been tossed in the purges.) While Dan worked in his office, I found it necessary to part the seas, he in the office, me away from Operation Clean Up.  One would think that after over fifty years together, I would recognize that not infrequently we have different approaches to achieve one's goals, wouldn't one?  A couple times I was certain he was speaking any language other than English and vice-versa.  I'd ask him about a particular object or time frame, and he'd look at me as if I had twenty heads.  In response, I would a) attempt to ask the same question another way that might produce a hoped-for response or 2) turn my twenty pretty little heads and walk away.

I'll admit to feeling verklempt during this period, especially as I Christmas-ed the house (yes, that's a verb).  Specifically I felt my father's spirit while putting up the Christmas tree he mailed to us, wrapped in 3 Hefty black garbage bags, from Chicago when he and my mom were downsizing their Christmas decor.  I believe he hung around that tree this season, as I would catch, from the corner of my eye,  someone or something in the dining room near the tree.  Also, at night before going to bed, I would unplug a tree and the Snow Village houses in the kitchen.  The next morning, one of them would remain lit up.  Happened more than once.  

In my house, there's a place for everything Christmas.  The Snowman Corner on the kitchen counter.  The Christmas Tree Forest on my mother-in-law's desk.  The Gnome Gathering on the family room bookcase.  The Reindeer Corral on the dining room table.  Etc., etc.  Where will they live next year?  Did they know this was their finale (as my sister JoAnn would say)?  More than once I stopped.  And sat.  And looked around.  Took deep breaths.  Savored the scene.  And gave thanks.

We kicked house preparation into high gear once January said hello, and in Minnesota we were greeted with copious snowfall that still, weeks later, would make an ideal setting for one of those Hallmark movies.  Keeping us inside (at least until the driveway was plowed) was an excellent incentive to get going.

Then, the angels and devils on the shoulders showed up.

"Should I keep this?  Should I toss this?"

The KonMari Method--keep only those things that speak to the heart, and discard items that no longer spark joy--effectively spoke to both the angels and the devils.  Since I had previously purged, I anticipated whatever remained in closets, drawers, etc. would be similar to buried treasure.  Once unearthed, I'd exclaim gleefully, "I wondered where you went to!" and joyfully be reunited with same.  In actuality, not so much, which is where the angel and devil engaged in mental combat.  

 Devil: "You didn't even remember you kept those Best Buy ads where the kids modeled!  TOSS!!"

Angel: "Aw, but look how cute they are.  And wouldn't their children be excited to see their mom/dad in a newspaper insert?  KEEP!!"

The worst were the bags and boxes and drawers filled with photographs, many ensconced in sleeves or envelopes bearing the logo of long forgotten photo developing establishments.  

Devil: "You didn't even remember you had all those!  You thought you had put all your pictures into the photo albums, of which there are three boxes going to storage!  TOSS!!"

Angel: "Aw, but the memories!  So many people you don't remember but must have been important to you because you kept their pictures!  Don't you wonder where they are now?  And, that trip to California!  Or maybe it was Colorado?  Or South Dakota?  You have to go through all these!"

Devil: "You don't have time to go through all these!  Maybe next summer!  And throw away the ones that clearly should never have even been developed because they look like this 

Angel: "Just put them all in a storage bin.  You can deal with this later."

Three more storage bins later, and should I choose to accept the mission, I have a project waiting for me next summer.

Only question is where will we be?

That echoes the question we've received most from friends and relations.  Where are you moving to?  Stock answer: We'll see.  I've been unable to get my undies in a bundle about this, because unlike so many who don't enjoy the blessings of a place to call home, I know with great certainty that I will have a roof over my head.  We will be warm and dry.  It will have indoor plumbing, and literally all the accoutrements required for a safe, comfortable, healthy dwelling.  Our intention is to find single level living, preferably a townhouse or villa home.  Living in a new development without mature landscaping isn't appealing, nor is a condo.  Would we get a place in Florida and rent in Minnesota instead of vice-versa as we're currently doing?

We'll see.