So here I am in Pittsburgh, at MIL’s house. Alone, because Mr. Rilch is at work and MIL is at the farm.
My assignment is to take 30 years of Old Lady Crap[sup]TM[/sup] and ready it for either moving or sale. MIL has been briefed that I am acting as Mr. Rilch’s agent. I am not to throw anything away, unless it’s unsanitary or beyond repair, but beyond that, I have free rein.
Arrived in the wee hours of Tuesday, 9/7. After a short nap, had to get up to assist Mr. Rilch in unloading our stuff from the truck and shifting some of MIL’s stuff into her car. Suffered puncture wound when MIL’s TV fell on my foot. Note to self: When moving heavy objects, wear shoes.
Mr. Rilch departs, followed by MIL.
Unpack my stuff. This time, I don’t have to live out of a suitcase; I can empty out the dresser in the sewing room for my clothes. And clear off the top so I can arrange my books. And clear off a smaller chest of drawers to use as a dressing table. Result: A huge stack of clothes marked “Goodwill”. MIL has already said that if it’s not in her room, it can go.
Now it’s time to eat. Hmm…Stouffer’s French Bread pizza. Heat oven; unwrap pizza.
WTF? There is a solid sheet of frost on this thing! I’ll heat it anyway; it should still be edible.
No, it’s not.
Second order of business: Purge the fridge. There are no fewer than eight jars with stray pickles or olives floating in murky water. Out they go. What’s the expiration date on this? This doesn’t have one, but it doesn’t look good. This has fuzz on it…Enough. It’s all going. And these shelves come out to be wiped down at the sink.
Now for the upstairs bathroom. Why on earth are there empty bottles formerly containing hair dye still in the medicine cabinet? And this foundation has clarified. I’m gonna need an industrial-size bag. There. Room, finally, for Mr. Rilch’s and my toiletries.
Time for a break…Oh, this is ridiculous. There’s not enough room on this side table for a can of pop, much less an ashtray. How has she not burned down the house by now? These magazines can be sorted by date; these newspapers can be put in the bin, and this paperwork can go in a carton. These stray pencils and pens can go…in…the…pencil jar…which seems fuller than it looks…
Jesus H., there are crumbs in here. Okay; that’s better. And the table can be wiped down and polished. Oh wait; look at all the magazines that have fallen down between the table and chair…
9/8/04. Cable guy arrives to hook up internet. Woohoo!
Mr. Rilch arises and suggests that I push the table against the wall, so the “spaghetti” doesn’t have to be out in the path of traffic. This I do. He leaves, advising me to have MIL take me to Office Depot to get boxes as soon as she returns from the farm, and to empty the armoire in his room so he can put his stuff in.
What is all this? There are enough sheets here for a hotel.
Phone rings. MIL can’t come back today; it’s raining too hard. So I’m screwed, basically: I have no car, and even if there was somewhere to walk to, I don’t have keys to lock up after myself. So no trip to Giant Eagle, either. Have to order a pizza.
This local place sucks. Should have gotten Pizza Hut. Live and learn.
Well, without boxes, there’s little I can do on that front. What’s in the other boxes? Six wicker handbags? Must be holdovers from back in the day when the handbag had to match the ensemble.
Well, I can clear off the kitchen counters, at any rate. More paperwork for the carton. Tinfoil trays can be chucked out. Ungodly amount of crumbs to be wiped away…At last, a clean counter that stretches away to forever.
So now I can sit and watch TV without having to pull in my elbows; the bathroom is “ours”; I won’t have to dig around in a suitcase every time I want to change clothes; I can make a meal (if I ever get stuff to make it with), and I can open the fridge without gagging. Not bad for two days’ work.
Further bulletins as events warrant. (But not tomorrow; I have a concert to go to! Yippee!)