Downsizing the Family Home
Unclutterer, a site I want to marry, and, bear its children, has a post, Resource list for inherited clutter, that’s invaluable to someone like me, who bears nearly all the responsibility of cleaning out an aging parent’s home.
All the resources named appear to be stocked with useful advice how to handle what can be an emotional, and, difficult process.
I’m especially interested in reading about what to do with inherited heirlooms when they come in multiples for an only child.
So, go check out Unclutterer, and, the awesome list of resources if you, or, anyone in your life is downsizing a home.
Thanks for the link. I don’t have aging parents but I can use all the simplicity I can get — which includes getting rid of clutter. I try but with a six year old it can be tough. I’ll check it out, since you want to marry it and all
Here’s a cautionary tale of pride and carelessness.
When we cleared out my parents’ home, we rented a rolloff (a long narrow dumpster on wheels) and had it positioned in the driveway so that it was easily accessible from both the house and the garage. We paid a couple of our muscular nephews to help us throw things away.
That worked well for the attic and the basement, from both of which, frankly, almost everything ended up in the dumpster.
The garage was different. The day set to clean out the garage dawned gray and cold (a cinematic omen if ever I saw one).
The guys who had agreed to help me called and cancelled on account of the weather. OK, I thought, I can do this by myself.
At my parents’ house, I pinched my fingers badly getting the end door of the dumpster open and positioning the ramp so that I could load in things from the garage. Ouch, I said, but I can do this by myself.
Then it began to snow, and the steel ramp into the dumpster became slippery. OK, I said, I’ll be careful, so that I can do this by myself.
Walking up the ramp for about the tenth time, I lost my footing. I fell backwards and landed on the back of my head inside the dumpster. The item I was carrying–an open, partially used 25-pound sack of garden manure–flew out of my arms and landed, open side down, squarely on my face, just as my head hit the steel floor.
OK, I said, I get it. I really, really can’t do this by myself…