What now? #7

July 29, 2008

The P.O.D. is gone, as of 9:06 a.m. this morning. No more P.O.D. at our house. I felt like busting out the Champagne and donning my sparkled prom dress, then doing a jig in the empty driveway.

Least you have forgotten, my inheritance came in the form of: acres of timber in Easter Washington; acres of nothing but grass and sky (in E. Washington); untapped mineral rights in Sheridan and Daniels counties, Montana; and, STUFF. Stuff Stuff Stuff.

STUFF!!! Mom and Dad were antiques dealers for decades, plus they held a belief that the wisest investment of money was in STUFF–objects of value, e.g., ancient Japanese porcelain and early American silver. So, I inherited 1/3 of their STUFF. (Yep, there are four children and the Will said split it all in fourths, but one of my siblings demanded that we buy him out so he could have cash cash cash right NOW. So, after he posited a variety of threats, we cut down a bunch of trees and obtained his desired cash cash cash. Don’t let anyone convince you that loving siblings stay sane after their parents die.)

Anyway. Mom and Dad’s STUFF. Given that I AM their daughter, I have a hankering for STUFF–unfortunately. I have fondness for fine things, and I have deep appreciation for well-crafted things, as well as the “art” that emerges from need: sheet metal tool boxes and wooden bowls and deer antler buttons.

Anyway. Our P.O.D. was a 16′ version and had lingered here well passed good use. It was half-empty and the bulk of its contents were the dregs of a full and busy life: carpet remnants we need for patching the one carpeted room in the house; a swell bamboo mat we don’t have a place for anymore; a vintage metal cabinet that I have hopes of refinishing as a bar; a couple of bags of mending; two stained glass windows I’ve had since 1980 that have no good spot in our home. STUFF, and not my favorite kind of stuff.

But the plan was to cull the dregs and combine the keepers into the box of my truck.

Did I tell you I own a truck? Here’s another picture of the inside of my truck.

Miles and miles and miles

It is a 1966 Ford “Agricultural Vehicle” which my wise brother arranged for me to buy, once it was clear I would need a place to put a lot of STUFF, and then haul it from Eastern to Western Washington. Which I did–buy the truck, and then drive it 300 miles from Malo, WA to Seattle, WA. A little grueling. But I digress.

STUFF. The truck was stuffed with my stuff, and then it, too, got emptied some, bit by bit over time, until it was only about 2/3 full–but a sloppy two-thirds. So I spent a good many hours re-arranging and sorting making more room in the truck, and NOW, the contents of the P.O.D. are all re-located, either in the house, the garage, or the truck.

More sorting and jettisoning to do. Lots. But, I think I’ll go have some Champagne now, b/c the P.O.D. has rolled on down the street, to become a bulky burden in someone else’s life!

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