Note to self: when you’re feeling a little melancholy, dealing with stacks of bursting boxes and bags of your unsorted past will not cheer you. On the other hand, it has to be done.
Yesterday when my mind whimpered, But I’m tired! I told it: Shut up, mind.
I mucked the barn, brought the cows in, filled the goose water, moved the sheep fencing, filled the sheep water, took trash to the local recycling, spread manure, and then worked for hours in the garage and basement. For a mental break I drove into town and did the grocery shopping before barn chores and cooking dinner.
It’s hard to see much improvement when you glance into either the garage or the basement, both of which look as higgledy-piggledy as ever, but there is now a plan. I will eventually get it all sorted and dealt with.
It appears we’ve never thrown anything away, much less held a yard sale. No one needs fifty plastic containers and their lids… or half a set of Great Aunt Edith’s china… or horse show ribbons from when I was sixteen… or every art project the children have ever made. I have Jon’s tetherball from age twelve. His boogie board. His ski boots. A pair of runner sleds. Lucy has even kept all her spiral notebooks from school — every single year.
I’ve decided my goal is to finish the basement by Christmas and the garage by next June. I foresee many trips to the dump in my future.
Today I drive Lucy to college and then drive to pick up beef for customers.