Things are moving

Things are moving! It’s been a minute or two since I last updated you all on the progress of the house selling adventure. About eight weeks ago, I was complaining of oil tank remediation, asbestos testing, a house filled to the brim with stuff – most of it left over from my former spouse – and an adult child that did not seem to want to move out.

The process

I think I lost the month of May. All of the stress and anxiety of April came to a head immediately following the return from vacation: the oil tank had to be dealt with in between days upon days upon days of rain, then the aftermath of the first electronics sale, and then the estate sale – also dampened by downpours – had to happen. All in a period of about 2 weeks. The goal, of course, was to be market-ready by June 1.

Of course, the estate sale did not do what we had hoped – but did expose the absolute horror of humans when presented with other people’s belongings at bargain prices. Despite clearly marked boundaries of what was for sale and what was not, people were rummaging through my child’s laundry basket, wanting to buy his clothes. What? Another woman helped herself to my cleaning supplies. Are you kidding me? Still others walked off with small items that no one could keep track of. Thankfully, they were not high value items, but still. The audacity. In the end, the high value items remained. The basement was still full of stuff. In the midst of all the activity, the adult child was steadfast in his lack of moving preparation. Overwhelmed and nearly despondent, my anxiety ratcheted up a few notches. Time was ticking by, quickly.

The cleanout and letting go

Things are moving. At my wits end, I simply scheduled the plastering and painting, landscaping, house cleaning and photography. I told myself that the furniture would eventually find new homes, and the junk would somehow disappear. With tight deadlines looming, the estate sale guy came through: he gave me the number of another guy whose specialty is cleaning out houses. I called him on a Monday, with a week to go before the cleanout had to be complete, fully expecting to be disappointed, or quoted an exorbitant price, or both.

“Can I come out tomorrow to look at everything and give you an estimate?” asked the guy, whose name is Vinny. And yes, he is a Vinny. From New Jersey. Yes, he sounds exactly as you would imagine.

“Sure,” was my reply. “I need this whole place cleaned out by next Wednesday at the latest. I’ve got a photographer coming on Thursday. I know it is short notice.” It occurred to me in that moment that I had somehow miraculously disconnected my feelings, identity, and self from the things in my house. After decades of hanging on to possessions, just in case, because the kids might want it, or some other reason I’ve long forgotten, I was finally able to view the stuff for what it was. Stuff.

Vinny is not deterred. He shows up the next day, sizes up the scope of the job, and quoted me a price that is HALF what I had been quoted by the estate sale guy to clean my place out. He even apologizes! And gets to work immediately – no messing around for this guy. I get back on my computer, he hauls crap out of my basement. In a few hours, he has made a dent and has filled up his van.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning around 8:30 with my nephew to haul out the big stuff,” he says to me, wiping sweat off his face. “You’ve got a lot of good things mixed in with a lot of garbage. We gotta make sure the stuff you want to keep is marked so I don’t take something by mistake.”

“Got it,” I reply, stunned by the swiftness that a once insurmountable problem began evaporating. I spent that evening marking up all the keepers with blue tape, packing whatever I could into the back of my car, and piling up the stuff that was to go. Just like that, a major issue became a non-issue.

A Miracle on Main Street

On the morning before Memorial Day, I am not at my house. But Vinny is, and so is the landscaper. They jockey for use of the driveway and alarm the neighbors – people they don’t know are in and out of my house and no one is supervising. The adult child has (finally) completed his exit.

By Tuesday afternoon, Vinny is done.

By Wednesday afternoon, I have packed up the last of my remaining belongings, tidied up for the last time, and my home made its final transition back to a house, awaiting its next inhabitants to find it.

By Thursday afternoon, the photographer has conjured his magic.

By the following Monday morning, the miraculous transformation is made public.

Things are moving

I now refer to Vinny as my fixer. He doesn’t want my beautiful furniture to be given away at pennies on the dollar at an auction (which he can help with), so he has arranged for someone to come look at the beauties. In the meantime, the gorgeous things my ex and I acquired lend the house charm and make the old girl shine. Now that all the clutter is gone, what made me fall in love with the place 26 years ago is in full view.

It’s hard to say goodbye, but she’s ready for a new family.

And I’ve changed my address and am slowly stepping into a new chapter.

Things, and I, are moving.