Thursday, August 13, 2015

When Pigs Fly

"Ooooommph. What the hell is in here." I ask Mark while my knees buckle and my guts strain to burst.
"Cook books."
"This must weigh near a hundred pounds. How the hell.... "
"Those are the cook books I'm taking with me. I'll put the ones I plan to sell aside for you to take care of later."
"Well, how many boxes like this do you think you'll have?"
"...Ummmm, twenty?"
"Twenty? Twenty boxes? That's literally a goddamned ton of cook books." I paused to take a breath. "You're crazy. You're fucking crazy."
And so it has begun, again. We had started packing crap away when we had a contract to sell the house last time, but the minute the deal fell through I kind of gave up. Now we have forty nine days before closing if this deal doesn't turn to crap.

I began going through my office while Mark worked on his books. It took me about four hours to go through one large bin. All afternoon I shredded income tax returns going back nearly twenty years, scanned those things that I thought I needed, and found myself getting engrossed in the details and minutia of the last twenty three years. Each layer in the bin that I dug through was a revelation. This is going to be horrible. I have never had this much crap to move, ever.

I pulled open a drawer.
"Oh for crissakes. Mark! Mark, come here a minute!"
Mark appeared at the doorway as I swept my hand across the contents of the drawer like Carol Merrill on the old Let Make a Deal.
"Why do you have these?"
"Those are my Beanie Babies."
"You do know that they are worthless, don't you?"
"No they aren't. I've seen them on Ebay for up to a thousand dollars."
"And I saw pigs fly in a Disney cartoon. It doesn't mean pigs can really fly."
I don't think I can take it. Forty nine, no, now forty eight days of trying to get Mark on board, trying to get Mark to realize not everything is worth the time and trouble to move or even sell. Crap is crap, it belongs in a dumpster. I'm exasperated and we've only just begun to put this move all together. Oh well, I think I'll open a beer and relax for awhile. Besides, I'm not one hundred percent sure I saw pigs fly in a Disney cartoon.


  1. The attic is your answer. When Mark is out, shove any box you don't want to move there. When we moved into our house there were boxes of old musty books and an American flag with only 48 stars.

    1. Florida houses don't have real attics. There is very little space up there and the rats are using most of it.