I've seen the look before. My husband's ever steady gaze as I reveal a new idea to him. The man deserves a gold star, he never realized how much crazy he got when he got me. Lucky for me, his eyes haven't ever glazed over while I'm sharing my next adventure, but he has been know to snore in the middle of my sentence.
I've been looking at the tiny house movement. These are small homes.....really small. What I have read and researched about them I find fascinating. No big overhead, simple living, and if they are on wheels, they can be taken just about anywhere. Oh boy, that sounds like fun!
Since we have actually been talking about downsizing, the first thing to do is decide what to do without. I'm discovering this is a daunting task.
We have lived in this house for almost 30 years. This is also the house I grew up in. As I make the trek from the basement to the second floor, I give a small prayer of thanks that we don't have an attic. Good grief, how does one accumulate so much stuff?
I thought I had done well, getting rid of many items, but when it comes to going from many square feet to say, maybe 400 square feet the old saying "you can't take it with you" has a whole new meaning.
Standing in the basement I see I have kept many a valuable item. On the top shelf of one of the eight sets of shelving units sits a coffee can wrapped in tin foil. I have no idea why it is wrapped in tin foil, that's just the way it has always been. It is full of rocks. These rocks are not anything special, they're just rocks. Some forty years ago, when Dad retired, Mother thought it a good idea for him to have a hobby. She bought him a rock tumbler, thinking he could while away the hours making trinkets. He did pick up some rocks, they are still in the can. As far as actually tumbling them is anyone's guess. I look at the rocks and gently place them back on the shelf.
At the far end of the row of shelving units, again on the top shelf, is an assortment of small plaster houses. These were to be a Christmas village, when I got them all painted. There are 13 little houses, three of them are finished. The other 10 are still wrapped in plastic, never opened. I haven't touched them in over ten years, maybe even longer. I go back up the stairs.
I walk around and look at all the stuff hanging on the walls. Then I go to the closet in the entry way, slowly I open four sets of bi-fold doors. This closet is jam packed from the floor to the ceiling. Within its confines hangs a beautiful long grey wool coat that I thought was just the cat's meow. I think I wore it once. It's very heavy and nearly wore me out getting from the house to the car. I glance at the other treasures this closet conceals and slowly close the doors. I'm not even going to venture into the kitchen, I know what's in there. I have 30 dinner plates within arms reach. That doesn't count the twelve piece place setting of china, it's in a box, in the basement.
Maybe the second floor will give me more motivation.
I walk down the hallway, and out of the corner of my eye, glance into five bedrooms. All but one has a closet. In one closet I find a dress that I know darn good and well I will never wear again. It is pretty though, I close the door.
Perhaps I will just go outside. I could live out there if it didn't get so cold in the winter. I look back at the house and think of the large antique mall my sisters, Lela and Blanche, made me take them to. Those are the places where all your stuff ends up if your kids don't want it, and they don't because they are in the process of accumulating their own stuff.
Maybe we could just jump in the car and just start driving. When they finally find us, we could claim amnesia and act like we don't have a clue. That might be the best idea yet.
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