I decided it was high time to get started on the downstairs project, so after a suitable period of further procrastination yesterday morning, I headed down there. And surveyed my options. Start with this pile of boxes?
Or this pile of boxes?
I leaned down to peek into one and found a good candidate.
A box of fake plants! How much better could it get? This would be a perfect box to start with. I could dispose of it quickly and congratulate myself on one box down! I need that kind of encouragement when I’m starting a big project. Why, I’d be done with this box in about 2 minutes then I could head back upstairs to eat bon bons on the couch, satisfied with a job well done.
I don’t really have any bon bons. And I hardly ever sit on the couch.
But it sounds nice, doesn’t it?
And maybe, just because I’d done all that hard work on that one box, I might actually get some bon bons and sit on the couch! I was going to deserve it!
I pulled the plastic plants out the box and made the unsettling discovery that there was something else in the box. But not too much. It looked like junk. I’d deal with it posthaste and be tossing back bon bons before I knew it.
What am I doing with this bag full of old-fashioned metal hair curlers?
And oh wait! Now this must be kept. Vintage glass spice bottles. That’s a good find.
What’s with this old hymn book with the covers torn off?
Another old book. Same thing. Covers torn off. I have no idea why I have this stuff.
And now some metal junk in the bottom of the box.
Aside from the spice bottles, I can throw this whole box out! Bon bons, here I come!
“These curtain rods was used when Jessie Woodall was a girl at home. She brought them to Oklahoma when she got married in 1904. Each side rod opened out then lay back on wall by each side of window. By hand each time.”
Oh Box, you are cruel and deceptive.
What am I going to do with this stuff? Jessie Woodall was my great-grandmother. She carried these curtain rods ACROSS THE PRAIRIE. In a covered wagon. Uphill both ways. (Okay, they don’t have hills on prairies, but that’s not the point.) That note is written by my grandmother. Evidently, my mother got the curtain rods. And now I have the curtain rods. And I don’t even remember getting the curtain rods, but now I am the owner of the over 100-year-old curtain rods that CROSSED THE PRAIRIE. What, do I have to open a museum now? Why must a box be so cruel? I’m trying to CLEAN OUT.
I know. I’m going to put everything back in the box, put the plastic plants on top, and we’re going to pretend this never happened. I’ll take the box to the attic and then one day when I’m dead, Morgan will find it and it will be her problem! She’ll have to figure out what to do with the curtain rods that CROSSED THE PRAIRIE! I’ll be dead! Whew.
Now where are my bon bons?