There there I am, at work, minding my business, when the cell rings. A local, unknown number on the ID. It’s the “donate your furniture” people. “There’s nothing on the porch” they say. Inquiring about my donations’s pick-up, which was set for today. Appears that the couch and table I left for them was carried off in the time since I last stayed at my old place. I suppose I still “donated it” – just not to the people I expected. Rather bold to walk off with furniture that big, but it was pretty clear the place was empty.
But it was actually nice to get that call – everything I left there had bad mojo going for it. Stuff I was holding onto just “because it’s mine” and not because I actually got much use or pleasure from the things. That’s several hundred poounds of crap I’ll never have to move again. And one email address. Meh, I have others.
And so this weekend, my first BBQ of the season, in the new place’s back yard, which I and a friend cleared on Saturday. “Cleared” as in dealt with several huge empty cardboard boxes ( contained car body parts), a lawn that had not been raked in years, a dozen or so good sized saplings that had taken over one corner…still haven’t gotten to mowing it. Getting the mower back there will be tricky – side yard is storage of I-don’t-know-what. Anyhow, it’s weird – even though I am sharing a house, it actually feels more private – no foot traffic in back, last place had a sidewalk two feet from my gate. Can’t complain. This place has an 8′ foot fence ’round the back yard (no fron yard to speak of, one of “those” places).
Time to make the address change official with those institutions who need to be able to reach you with paper mail. A much smaller number than in years past.
Ahh hell. i need to do laundry. No bloody clue where the detergent is. And all this written with a bird perched on my shoulder.
Think about that.