This actually represents a lot of work. I started it last year then developed a mind block against it (overwhelm). I have now finished going through every single paper in both the 4-drawer cabinet, and the 2-drawer. I packed up 2 boxes to give to my ex, a couple of large boxes went into the recycle bin, and I’m shredding small batches at work. I took out two bags of trash and started another one. I dispersed random useful things I found, like paperclips or whatever, to other parts of the house. Some things, like old backup CDs, I put with the computer stuff I’ll have to go through at some point.

Oh! See that big stack of little boxes next to the file cabinet in the ‘before’ picture? They were mostly from electronics or small appliances. I opened and separated them into paper, cardboard, plastic, and trash—and took that all out.

For now, I saved all the old boxes from Apple products. I don’t know. They’re really nice boxes. My reasoning was that I need to think about it some more. I have sold electronics on swappa.com and it’s nice to be able to ship the item in its original box.

The 2-drawer cabinet came out of another room so—bonus. There is currently space to spare in it!

The old steel 4-drawer cabinet is still really heavy when it’s empty. I pushed it out into the larger part of the basement by putting rags under it, and it was still really hard. I will have someone help me get it out to the curb if it ever stops raining.

The stars aligned when both kids made plans to be gone for the weekend and the weather was too rainy/hot to be outside. The nice cool basement was definitely the place to be.

I stewed for a bit about what I could do next down there. Since anything at all is progress, I chose what felt easiest—going back to the filing cabinet that I’ve been working on intermittently for several years. Four drawers, mostly still full, it sits in our bomb shelter—literally. This house was built in 1963 and there is a room in the basement with 4 concrete walls—covered in wood paneling, of course. This is what we’ve always called the ‘storage room’ though the entire basement has, of course, become storage at this point.

The last time I sat down to go through this file cabinet, I found my tax records going back to the 1980s. Yesterday, I found documents that showed me exact dates for surgeries, dog adoptions, and car accidents. I took pictures and/or made notes on my phone, then sorted the papers into Shred or Recycle boxes.

So, I spent almost all of my Saturday hunkered down on an old folding camp chair looking through files, one paper at a time. Music and a couple of beers helped a lot, when I started to get weary. I have about 8” of files left to go through in this cabinet, then one drawer in my 2-drawer cabinet. It’s looking like everything will fit into the 2-drawer then the old 4-drawer can go out to the curb!

A very satisfying day.

My brother stopped collecting beer cans around 1980, but my parents kept the collection and moved it around with them. These old empty cans have been in a shed for the last ~20 years. The cardboard boxes containing them, all chewed through. Plenty of mice and mud-dauber wasps made their homes there over the years.

Until Saturday.

My parents are downsizing, so they are also getting rid of stuff. Everyone in the family, including my brother, was of the opinion that the entire beer can collection should be carted straight over to the recycling center, but I firmly requested that I be able to go through it first. A cursory Google search had indicated people are still collecting beer cans and that, in fact, the hobby is having a resurgence.

I’m busy, so I put the beer cans off—for maybe a couple of years. My parents finally put in a bid on a new house, so the calls to get rid of cans began coming closer together—contractions forecasting the birth of a large purge.

Why did I feel so strongly about going through all of those beer cans? What would I get out of it? What would be the point?

During the several contiguous hours I spent sorting through empty cans, one by one, I had plenty of time to consider The Value of My Time vs. The Value of the Cans.

My Time: I drove out to my folks’ specifically for this task. I carted the cans out of the shed, knocked wasp nests off of them, and shooed mice away. As I began my research, I discovered that eBay has a great image search function. I scanned results to estimate worth. I decided I’d try to sell the ones with lower value in a group as one lot. My time investment would not be over though. How long will it take me to wash the cans off, photograph them, create the posts on eBay, monitor and communicate about the posts, then pack and ship them?

The Cans: I found a handful of cans likely to have monetary value over $10, and one possibly $30. A few dozen of them are worth maybe $5-$8 each. However, I spent the lion’s share of a day totally absorbed in something that felt like play. How often do we get to do that? Even though I didn’t find anything rare, it felt like a treasure hunt. Somewhere along the way, I got lost in my research, the cultural interest, the history, and the memories. Bonus for the perfect spring weather since I was outdoors the whole time. It was a lovely day! And my parents are so happy to have those out of their way.

The monetary value of the cans is not much. I have since thought about trying to find a local collector to just give them to (as is). They are now sitting in …. my basement! Which seems like another step backwards. But I swear I feel like I’m moving in the right direction.

The first step backward came when my daughter decided to reorganize her room so that it might contain all the new clothes and gear she brought back from her winter adventure in Colorado. So, alas, some things were again added to her pile in the basement.

She then, on a whim, decided to buy a 1995 Jeep Grand Cherokee. It comes with a lot of parts. These are now on the lawn, in the driveway, and under the carport. Along with the mini fridge and office chair my son brought back from his dorm room.

Which leads us to the second step back. This is where the rest of my son’s dorm room landed—right inside the front door. There’s not really room for all these things in his bedroom. Some will have to go to … the basement.

As an added bonus, you are privy to seeing the rundown state of my home’s interior. I’ve been working hard on the outside. The inside will happen once I declutter. How I got to this place is a story for a whole nother blog.

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I just turned 60.

My kids are 19 and 21. They are currently coming and going out of the house between dorm stays or out-of-state adventures. During the increasing alone-time I get, I’ve begun to imagine other things for myself.

I’m currently working as a Case Manager in Supportive Housing and just discovered the term “compassion fatigue.” That about sums it up—on top of the fact that my agency has a good deal of management problems.

I’m really ready to retire do art, but I’m not $et up very well. It’s too late to do much about that, but I’ve been thinking that if I’m going to have to work until I die, maybe I could take a sabbatical and restructure my life. For backup, I’m old enough to tap my 401K—such that it be—without penalty. Maybe I could get a part-time gig to slow the bleed.

Constipation

I’ve recently started engaging more with other artists. In thinking about art biz and other life changes, I have found myself feeling constipated by all the crap in my basement. If I want to sell this house in the next few years, that will have to be dealt with. In the meantime, I could also be using this space for art-making.

I’ve decided to start in this corner.

Not so bad, right? I mean, there are walkways. But it has already taken me many trips down here to decide where to start. I pace, I stare, I look around, I distress, I strategize. The mental toll is real. My current thinking is that if I can make enough space to set up a table, I can post things on eBay.

I’m beginning to realize that all the stuff in my basement represents either potential: “I’m going to use this to make something.” or delayed decisions: “I’ll just stick it down here, for now.” I have lived here 18 years. My kids have grown up here. The nooks and crannies are essentially full.

Hoping for sympathy

I decided to write publicly about this for motivation, and to keep myself accountable. I’m also hoping to engage others who may be in similar situations so we can build mutual support.

If you find I haven’t posted recently, it means I have fallen prey to procrastination. But I don’t have time for that! I’m 60. Life is short. Give me a nudge.

This journal is always gonna be free, but you can choose to pay, just for fun.