Stuff, stuff and more stuff

      One of the biggest things I need to figure out soon here in London, the top item on the to-do list as it were, is sort out what to do with all our stuff. At the moment, two-thirds of our earthly possessions are in two different storage facilities in London -- and that's as expensive as it sounds and needs to be consolidated, with an eye towards 'what the hell are we going to do with all this stuff' later, I guess.  

     You should've been here when that happened, the day the movers arrived with our shipment from the States. Or maybe not. 

     The container spewed boxes like a teenager who's had too much to drink -- with nowhere to put what just kept coming out. We quickly saw that even the furniture we thought MIGHT fit in this top-floor flat wouldn't make it around the bend in the stairs leading to the main level -- even after taking off all the doorways and any furniture appendages.

    Now, I know what you're thinking. Some dumb materialistic American with way too much stuff. Which I guess is valid, in a way. But not completely.

     Yes, I did come from a much bigger house in the States, but I knew that and had given a lot of my furniture to my boys, sold it, or donated it. I really only brought the equivalent of a three-bedroom apartment with me, in terms of furniture, which is what we have rented.

     Wasn't counting on it being so tight to get it up here. Underestimated how much room there was here, and how big my furniture is. Underestimated how much other stuff besides furniture, that I brought, that I couldn't throw away -- like some of the boys' old clothes and schoolwork, my dead mother's artwork, books, and anything else a fifty-something couple has amassed in three decades together.

     Since we knew we were going to have to store some stuff (we weren't that stupid), we had contracted with a London company to drop off a "pod" container that we would fill up and they would come take away when we were done.

     Filled that up in about an hour. Called for another one. Soon, that one was chock-a-block too. Asked for another one, but that's all they had.

     Ended the day on the pavement outside the house, crying, surrounded by bits of furniture and boxes. Moving guys took pity and made a late-afternoon arrangement to take the rest of the stuff that wouldn't go upstairs to their warehouse in east London. Moving guys really nice  -- tried to cram our sofa round the stair bend so intently for me that it dented the drywall (and no, it still didn't fit. And yes, we are going to have to fix the drywall.).  

     So that's how our stuff ended up in two different storage places in London. 

     Oh, and there's some here too, of course. There's at least a dozen boxes up in the loft, cooking nicely in the heat under the attic eaves. Not sure what's in them.

    And boy do we need a sofa.

    Anyway, need to call the first storage company today and get them to move the first two container pods to the cheaper place in east London, so it can all be together in one place that costs less.

    And then we'll have to decide what to do with it all.