packing

We haven't gotten anything done. But we've gotten everything done.
Lovingly oh so sweetly I packed up the dishes.
Every teacup. Seven not eight teacups. Wrapped them up in the nice white packing paper that reminds me of clay coated paper from inking typography in graphic design class.

The Corelle, the San Francisco coffee mug, the cheap-seeming "Imperial fine china" obviously most likely never ever used in years (versus the real family china they, the sisters, packed themselves out of the china cabinet.)The 1990 calendar, he took that off the inside of the cabinet himself though. He took down the shell hangy thingy from above the sink, but he left the twiggy wreath on the door.

He vacuumed all the other rooms while I wrapped and stacked and sifted through the recipe drawer a few minutes and decided to just pack it all in zip baggies. All those cookie cutters. The nice Good Grips lettuce cutter we bought her that one time while I was still at Linens N Things. Nice tongs. The colander strainer just like the one from my childhood, which I took home with me too. And a ton of cleaning supplies, I'll never have to buy cleaner again. For at least a long time. Wipe down the cabinets and vacuum out the drawers.

I wonder if he just couldn't do it, pack up those dishes and pie tins and those shiny 11 x 13 cake pans (I took those home with me.)All that stuff from the junk drawer, tools, what is that thing? Tupperware. Breadbox. We left a few electrical socket covers, a few mystery things and a little packet of chandelier teardrops in the drawer by the kitchen door.

 

The garbage.The donations. One more trip to the dump. I pledge I will never ever accumulate more things than can be managed swiftly and without undue stress upon my death.

I wonder if he just couldn't do it, or if it wasn't as important to anyone else as it was to me? I am contemplative. I assign symbolic value to the collections of little forks tied together with ancient twisties, shoved in the back of a drawer. The handmade aprons. The kitchen is a big part of the mama, huh? So now the house is empty.

Three people are supposedly Freecycling a cedar chest, a bookshelf, and a platform rocking chair, but they're still all sitting on the front porch.

He asked if I'd walk it with him, check this room, look thru that window one more time and pull down the shades. Lock the doors.