The static of stuff

After we'd moved from our house to the trailer, we had some excess stuff. We knew that some of our things were worth saving and making room for, like old photographs; some things were nice, but not nice enough to tempt us to squeeze it into our smaller quarters, like our queen sized bed and headboard; other items, like baby gear, we were keeping just in case, but we weren't currently using; and some things we no longer had a use for, if we ever actually did, we were eager to be rid of. We looked at the price of storage, looked at the amount of stuff that we didn't want to put in our trailer, and determined that by the time we were ready to build our house we could buy new or used replacement items for the amount of money it would cost us to store it all. And then some. We needed to cull the pile, even if we did wind up paying for storage on what we eventually kept. That meant we had to ditch anything that wasn't truly sentimental or, like winter clothing, soon-to-be useful. We know of only two ways to pitch stuff without filling a landfill, charity and holding a yard sale.


"Easy Money" is an Oxymoron

We began with charity. We called anyone with children younger than our youngest and asked if they wanted any gear or clothing. Then we called newlyweds and young people just starting out to see if they wanted our excess furniture items. With the first culling done, we set the date for a yard sale and promptly missed a key press deadline. This oversight automatically meant we'd have to have another sale or we'd barely break even on the cost of our babysitting and our other advertising.

The first day of our first yard sale started early. The babysitter arrived before dawn and we left the kids still sleeping in their beds to go to our old house where we'd hold the sale. We pulled items out of the house and garage, arranged, and priced everything. We were glad to see our first customer--she meant we were finally able to rest and catch our breath. By the time that long and hot day was over, with the exception of a dryer and one cabinet, none of our larger (and therefore heavier) items had sold. It all had to be hauled back into the garage until the next day. None of the heavy stuff sold the next day either, so it got hauled onto a truck and off again to store in my mother's garage until the next sale.

Memories Are Not Dependent on Stuff

I was misty eyed as I arranged my baby buggy that first day. It had pushed not only all of my five children, but all the babies I'd fostered, too. So many memories. I mused that it would be hard to sell it to a stranger. When it didn't sell that first day, it was with much less emotion that I wheeled it back into the garage. When it didn't sell by the second day and I had to put it on the trailer to haul to my mother's house for the next set of sale days, I found a new emotion taking the place of wistful fondness: annoyance. By the time it actually sold in a bundle with nearly the rest of my baby gear to a visibly pregnant woman, I was relieved to be rid of it and happy that she could use it.

Clothes, Clothes, and More Clothes!

Speaking of babies, they have a tendency to outgrow other stuff, too. I had boxes upon boxes of clothes in each size for each gender. Most were given as hand-me-downs or as gifts. Only a few items we'd purchased ourselves. Here's what I learned after only bringing a fraction of our clothing to the trailer: you only need as many clothes as it will take you to get to the next washday. Everybody needs a few very nice things, a few nice-ish things, and enough play clothes to handle the spills and thrills between washdays. We need a few jammies, a jacket, a sweater or two, and a heavy coat with some cold gear. In other words, not a closetful. You know what happens when you have too many clothes? Laundry. It piles up. Why wash when you've got at least another two weeks worth of clothes to go through before something has to be done?

Clothing has been a really drastic downsize for us. We've got these tiny, 70s era closets that would barely fit the linens of most modern homes. Now, my three girls are in one big dresser and they share a closet. My boys are in two dressers (with room leftover for some toy storage) and one closet. My husband and I, with our bigger clothes, are also sharing a single small dresser and small closet.

Stuff is Stuffing


Downsizing has taught me something about stuff--it is a burden. It really weighs you down. Mindlessly holding onto things, which is a danger for homeowners with plenty of storage, clutters up your life. I sifted through it all and found out I'd not used some items for years. Some things I'd never used at all. Either I'd been given an item as a gift and I kept them out of guilt or I'd bought them and discovered I couldn't be bothered with it. How much money was tied up in what turned out to be junk? I got a pittance of the purchase price for my "treasures."  50% was high. How much of my wealth had gone home in other people's trucks over the course of two yard sales?

Now What?

Some things did not sell. The boxes of books, children's clothes and shoes will wind up on a boat to the orphanage in Uganda. The rest will go to the Goodwill Store or other local charity. I won't miss a single item. In fact, I dread having to load it all up again to get it all finally and completely out of my life.

Do I still desire beautiful things? You betcha. Do I have any desire to actually purchase anything? Not in the slightest. My plate is full. In fact it is overflowing.

Thanks, but no.

The memorial dent...

If you've been wondering where we've been, the family has moved in and has been fixing up the ugly yellow trailer. The last three weeks have been busy with hammering, hollering, and hauling.

One little story from the house...the backdoor.

Trailers are funny things. When you move them from one site to another, they bend and flex just enough to make things interesting. Windows and doors leak until you seal them up again (more about the deluge in another post). The former owners hadn't wanted to mess with a backdoor and had at some point simply sealed it shut. We had to saw it out to replace it. My wonderfully handy husband got a new door in quickly, efficiently, and level-ly. The only problem is that the slightly tweaked trailer frame doesn't quite match the accurately level door frame. It's hard to shut that new back door. It takes quite a slam.

Well...since there's a trick to getting the backdoor to shut, my husband was explaining and demonstrating. Since I'm too smart for my own good, I was impatient and experimenting. I was fiddling with the lock at about the same instant my husband was demonstrating the way to slam the door. Somehow my left index finger got involved in the process. This led to a finger-shaped dent in the backdoor frame.

Just so you know, as long as the windows are open, the nearest neighbors can hear a good, loud bellow. Also, an aluminum door frame is not stronger than bone. Nothing was broken, just bent. Both the door and the finger work just fine.

Progress on the Ugly Yellow Trailer

Most of the major services are in on the new house!

All the very cool, manly jobs are out of the way. Like the septic football field...

Although there are still plenty of manly, power-tool related jobs left, like a new backdoor. The former owner bolted it to the frame. That job will involve the new sawzall my husband is purchasing today. Oh, yes, he's a happy man!

Now a lot of the jobs involve cleaning and putzing. We had our first meal in the new house--with company--before the water was hooked up.

The Dining Facilities

My lovely new kitchen. I'm planning on repainting that backsplash to get some color other than yellow and brown into the place. To deal with the lack of cupboard space, we'll be hanging the pots and pans from the ceiling. The muffin tins and other baking ware will be mouted on the wall. Maybe they'll look like decorative antiques if I don't scrub as hard after each use!

The whole place is paneled. On the plus side, fingerprints will be easy to manage, but it makes for one long, dark, and spooky hallway.

All that powder on the floor is baking soda to get rid of the cigarette odor.

(Legal disclaimer: it is NOT cocaine)

Now that the water's hooked up, you can use the facilities! Hoot! Hoot!

Those 70s were such a happy, orange and brown era!