I still haven't found the camera cord. I fear it is buried in the depths of the twisted mess that is being called "the box with electronic stuff". I don't even want to walk near it yet.
Moving blows. It would be fine if we could just stop now. We have all of our furniture and clothes here and unpacked, most of the kitchen and all of the electronics. Essentially everything I need to live. Oh, wait, some of the yarn but most of it is still over there, so let me amend that. MOST of what I need to survive.
But there are still assloads of stuff in the old house. Assloads, really. And this is after the great purge of 2008, when we moved up here! Let me tell you, I am ruthless. If it's a sock without a mate? It's going in the trash. Stray makeup? Trash. Old blow dryer? Trash. Sheets that don't fit beds? Trash. Now you may say this isn't ruthless, it's just normal. Well, not when you are married to a pack rat.
He comes from a long, distinguished line of pack rats. For instance, his grandmother saved everything. Everything. So much stuff they had to rent a dumpster to clean out her house when she passed away.
His mother? She buys things and sticks them in closets for Christmas's future. (She also regifts out of that closet, but that's another story) Her basement is full of stuff. When she decides to get rid of stuff, she can't throw it away, she must give it away and be sure of its use in it's new home.
Joe went through the girls bathroom and packed shampoo bottles with less than half and inch of shampoo in them (I will admit the girls should have gotten the little bit out and threw the dang bottles away!) And sheets in sizes we don't need anymore. His rationale? They cost money and we might be able to use them someday. NO! No, I say. No more. This house is smaller, we need less stuff. And I want to be able to buy more yarn! So purge we shall.
But right now I'm going to go knit.