Oh, our aching backs! That is what the HH and I were thinking Saturday night after moving the remainder of our “stuff” from a storage unit to our “just for now” apartment. The storage unit was only supposed to be for a month or two, but here we were nearly to the end of the fifth month of paying storage unit fees, and I wanted to be done with that. Weekend before last, the HH put shelves into our patio storage closet (with permission from one of the leasing ladies), and I ordered a heavy-duty, five-shelf, plastic storage unit to set against one of the walls on the patio.
With shelving in place, we moved all of the boxes, furniture, tools, etc. in storage to our apartment. It once again looks like we have just moved into the apartment. Now, I am slowly going through each of these boxes, many of which were moved from my classroom year before last after having been packed in a hurry by students who needed to earn service hours for Key Club. It is a slow and messy and boring job but necessary.
We discovered that four or five of the boxes in the storage unit actually belong to three of our six children. When these children come to visit, or we go to see them, boxes belonging to the individual kids will have to go with him or her; we don’t intend to purchase a house much larger than where we are living now when we buy again, so there is no need for us to continue to act as free storage for our grown children, love them though we do.
The good news was that the HH went through his huge tub of car parts while at the storage unit, and he pulled out an aluminum garbage can full of metal car parts with which he can part. That can, with a few other metal items, is going to be taken to the scrap metal vendor on Friday. After that, we get to cancel our storage unit use with three days left on o our current month.
Downsizing was initially my idea; it is what I really wanted (and still want), but I’m fighting my “pack rat” genes, inherited from my dad and my paternal grandmother. I’m not sure which ancestor passed the pack-rat gene to my grandmother, but I know someone is guilty. Letting go of things because there is a sentimental connection or because we might need that again some day causes internal battles that are fought with each box I open. I will admit that not being able to get to the dining table or walk safely down the hall or into the extra bedroom is incentive to make quicker decisions to “toss” items not needed now.
It is a hard, long, messy job, but I’m battling through because of the goal at the end: being downsized.
Have you gone through the downsizing battle? Do you have a hard time letting go of things, giving in to your inner pack rat?
Have a blessed and happy day!