Regarding the extra electronics

A couple weeks ago, when I told Scott that my biggest obstacle to decluttering is the fact that I can never figure out what to declutter, he said, “Well, we could work on that shelf in the hall upstairs.” Brilliant!!! I was immediately on board.

Now, here’s the deal about that shelf: it’s packed full of books and binders, but it contains nothing of mine, and that’s why I’ve never cleared it out. It’s loaded with mostly ministry-related books that have – often uninvited – landed in our house over the past 25+ years. But Scott doesn’t do a lot of reading, and that’s putting it graciously. He reads the Bible, he reads WORLD magazine, he reads what’s necessary for the running of our disciple-making ministry and our vacation rental business, and from time to time he reads portions of books that help us make a great marriage, but on no day ending in “Y” would I describe Scott as an avid reader.

Since I have no authority over anything on that hall bookshelf, and since I feared that tackling an entire shelf all at once (it has three) might discourage Scott from completing the task, I’ve been gradually handing him just a few books at a time and asking him to tell me if they should go or stay. Amazingly, a couple of the go’s that I’ve posted on paperbackswap.com have already been requested(!!!), and a number of other go’s are on their way to the library thrift shop. This – and the fact that Scott’s been willing to eat the elephant in numerous tiny bites – has made me very happy. And so, we’re making progress on decluttering.

In tangentially related news, I may have mentioned that our house is old. However, even after 110 years, good ole’ 8053 still provides us very consistent climate control: nice and warm in the summer and very cool in the winter. It being winter now, we are making good use of our two hefty, clunky, older than dirt, oil-filled space heaters. One’s living in the office, and the other migrates across the hall between the guest room (where Scott’s working on a book – writing it; not reading it) and the Zoom room (where he does some of his calls and meetings).

Since they’re not fan-forced, each heater needs about 20 minutes to begin taking the chill out of a room. Therefore, to be comfortably warm and/or to have access to his main computer and desk stuff, Scott often prefers to do his calls in the office, and this means that if I’m also at my desk, I hear everything he and his associates are saying. Now, I am able to do mindless things like folding bulletins or stamping envelopes or sorting desk piles while such conversations going on in the same room, but my brain simply cannot accomplish thoughtful tasks like bookkeeping, writing, or editing while words are being said. So, the other day, when Scott was in a screen-sharing discussion with the other Branson Canyon Property Owners Association board members, I motioned to him to please put on headphones. I knew that even with his headphones on, I’d still hear what he was saying, but somehow that’s not as distracting as also hearing everything the other guys are saying. (Hmm… does that mean I’ve spent 34 years learning to tune him out…? Perish the thought!)

Anyway, he did put on his headphones, but – aarrggh – I still kept hearing their full conversation. Sigh. Something about his headphones was clearly not working right. This was frustrating, but Scott is a gentleman, and without my asking, he muted himself, got up, and left for a few minutes. When he came back – hallellujah! – Jim and Shawn had somehow been silenced. After the call, I asked him what he’d done. He said he didn’t know what was wrong with his headphones, but he’d gone to get some certain kind of cord to plug them in (to something?), and that did the trick. The only problem was that he’d had to swipe that cord from the bathroom speaker, and did I happen to have another one of those cords?

Good question. It seems that having cords (of all kinds) and charging cables (for all types of devices) readily available in one’s desk is a wifely function, much like the motherly function of having Band-Aids, tweezers, Certs, pens, minimal cash, and Ibuprofen readily available in one’s purse. Although I didn’t recall ever having – or ever even using – such a cord, I dutifully dug through my zip-loc bag of extra cords and stated, “No, I don’t. But there might be one in the Extra Electronics box.”

For the sake of any readers whose legal mail has never been delivered to 8053, let me explain. For reasons that have never been entirely clear, when items that are or are related to electronic devices (including, but not limited to wires, modems, adapters, cables, printers, chargers, cords, and keyboards) are no longer in use, they are deposited into a cardboard box on the top right shelf of the office closet. There they live, breed, and eventually die, but even when deceased they are not discarded. As time has passed, some of the ever-increasing contents have over-topped the “E.E.” box, occasionally dangling into the hair of persons innocently entering the closet to retrieve, say, a stack of #10 envelopes or a new sermon notebook. Some sevenish years ago, when it all drove me crazy, I systematically extricated each cord, carefully wound it up, neatly rubber-banded it, and gently returned it to its place of honor. Such organization compressed the contents admirably, freeing up additional volume to accommodate even more, uh… stuff.

So, when I suggested to My Hero that he look in the Extra Electronics box for such a cord, and when he didn’t he look too terribly excited about that idea, I seized the opportunity for a significant decluttering event. We pulled down the box, and since I have never even known what the things in that box are, much less what they’re good for, I asked him to go through the box with my “help.” Meaning that I handed him each item, one at a time, and asked him to answer only one very specific question about it: “Do we own anything that uses this?”

The process actually went pretty quickly, with all the yes’s going in one pile to keep, and all the no’s going in another pile to either ditch or thrift. But the initially humorous and eventually hilarious thing about the whole deal was what Scott kept saying when I handed him certain kinds of cords. They were of different lengths, materials, colors, and textures, and his comments went like this:

“Hmm… that’s a… ??? Um, yeah, I know what that goes to, but we don’t have one of those any more.”

“Well, that goes to a… oh, just recycle it.”

(with a sheepish grin) “We used to use that kind of cord to charge things, but it’s an old-style cord.”

“That’s another one of those.”

(starting to chuckle) “Give it away. It’s another one.”

(pointing to a growing pile) “That’s another one of those.”

(laughing out loud) “It’s another one.”

(both of us hee-hawing uncontrollably) “That’s another one!

Yes, we had EIGHT different charger cords for older, no-longer-on-the-premises, non-Apple devices!!!

We trashed all the damaged or completely mysterious no’s, tossed all the “It’s another one!” cords plus several other potentially usable non-cord items into the thrift store bag, and in the end we discarded a net total 25 items from the Extra Electronics box. O, THE JOY!

As usual, I didn’t think to take a before picture, but here’s how our old faithful E.E. box looks right now.

Jury’s out on how long we’ll be able to maintain all that lovely unused space.

Jeopardy question: What is 31?

Answer: the number of totally full checkbook registers I just tossed in the trash.

I’m happy to say that I only kept the seven most recent ones, the ones covering 2019, 2020, and 2021.

Lost and found (a.k.a. under, in, or on)

Today I tackled the cabinet under the drawer that holds our picnic tablecloths. I thought that cabinet contained snow boots. It did, but did you know it was also home to my small weight set, an 18-inch segment of deformed baseboard from who knows where, one black aqua sock, one partially shredded black tennis shoe, one pair of long-defunct cleats, Scott’s current crocs, and this?

I have learned the hard way that it never works out well for me to get rid of anything — even obvious junk — over which I don’t have personal authority, so instead of throwing out the various seemingly useless items I found crammed into that cabinet, I dumped all of its contents into a laundry basket and plunked it on the dining room table for My Hero to evaluate at his leisure. Lunch happened before leisure, so we stared at the basket while eating and, assuming it wasn’t visible from his angle, I mentioned that there was an orange monkey wrench below all the detritus.

Me: See it down there? It’s orange and really heavy.

Scott: Huh!

Me: That is a monkey wrench, isn’t it?

Scott: Uh-huh.

Me: Umm… do you like to keep it there in the playroom?

Scott: It belongs in the shop. It’s been gone for a long time. A really long time. It went missing long ago and I thought it was lost. And where was it? In that cabinet with the snow boots?

Me: Yep!

Moral of the story: When seeking a monkey wrench, skip the pegboard above the workbench in the shop and try looking under the snow boots, in a laundry basket, or on the dining room table.

On craving closure… and counter cleaning

I like listening to the “Clutter Free Academy” podcast, where Kathi Lipp and Tonya Kubo frequently remind me that decluttering is never “one and done,” which means I’ll never finish it. Rather, it’s an ongoing for-as-long-as-I-live-on-this planet process. Sigh. I really like to mark things off a checklist, either tasks my paper one or concerns my mental one. I’ve even been known to do something and then add it to my checklist, just so I can have the satisfaction of marking it off.

When I was a kid, my mom said I had a compulsion for doneness. I still do. But I also have workarounds, like owning two toothbrushes, so that I can pack my toiletry bag the night before a trip and still brush my teeth in the morning. I’ve come a long way since I was ten. Dang! That was 50 years ago — but how about we just tuck that thought away for another blog post on another day?

As I was saying, doneness, completion, closure… these are mighty high priorities for Walnut Shade Mom. And I can even back that up with scripture.

Finishing is better than starting. Patience is better than pride.

Ecclesiastes 7:8, NLT

I am also innately wired to work before I play. It’s extremely hard for me to enjoy something that is recreational and/or energizing when something else that I care about is hanging over me undone. “That I care about” being a key phrase.

Therefore, I have recently been very please with the progress I’m making in completing some tasks, being more diligent in some areas, reducing some responsibilities, and letting go of some things, both physical and emotional. I’m not sure why it’s taken me so many decades, but I really am learning that when I make a doable plan, limit distractions, and discipline myself to stay FOCUSED, I get more done, feel more successful, and enjoy life more.

A few nights ago, I asked Scott to do a little honey-do project: our master bathroom has a lighted exhaust fan, and it has all these little slots and they were full of… well, not dust bunnies; these were dust rabbits! Or maybe dust kangaroos. It was really, really bad, but it’s in the ceiling, you know, and being short, the ceiling is not generally in my line of sight. However, a week or so ago, I had happened to look up, and I was both appalled at the yuck and surprised that the fan could actually suck any air at all. So I asked Scott to tackle little beast, and you won’t believe what we (that would be the royal we, a.k.a. the majestic plural) did. Well, he did most of work, and I cheered him on.

“We” cleaned out the master bath fan, meaning I balance the vacuum cleaner on the toilet and Scott attacked the fan’s vents — and its disassembled innards — with the crevice tool. And see those 12 slots on the near side? Well there are 12 just like it on each of the other three sides, and all 48 slots were filled to literally overflowing with GOBS of dust. = {

Kindly disregard the untaped and unpainted sheetrock of the ceiling (a casualty of the fan replacement several years back), and trust me; although perhaps not totally pristine, those slits are infinitely cleaner than they were.

“We” vacuumed our closet, the Zoom room, and the other room, the room where I exercise when I can’t go to the gym and where I spent a few weeks in early 2020 working on a scrapbook. (I do need a name for that room. Any ideas?)

“We” (after Scott had previously figured out what was wrong, and bought the bolt he thought would fix it) successfully repaired the broken elliptical in the playroom! This was a very impressive accomplishment on Scott’s part. He had bought Elliptical #1, used, many years ago, and it served him well, but a few months back something major went wrong with it, it died a tragic death, and our friend Steve Lane hauled it to the dump for us. Scott then bought Elliptical #2, but after a few days of frustrating use it turned that that one wasn’t a good fit for him, so he sold it for what he’d paid for it and bought Elliptical #3. (Note that none of these ellipticals are lightweight or easy to move. They require use of the Durango, the trailer, and muscles.) Anyway, Scott really likes Elliptical #3 a lot. He says it’s even better than Elliptical #1, and besides that, it’s made by Schwinn, which is nostalgic for me because I had a Schwinn bicycle as a kid. Anyway, a bolt broke on Elliptical #3, which made the arm thingy hang limp, which made the whole machine unusable. Scott was bummed and I had visions of him possibly buying and trying to move a fourth Elliptical… and then selling Elliptical #3, etc. Sheesh! But in the spirit of teamwork, I did my part for the repair: I tried to stay out of the way except when I was handing Scott a tool or something. I also managed to stand very still and with three fingers gently hold the hanging arm in place while Scott disassembled first the good side (to see exactly how the various washers were stacked) and then the bad side (to install the bolt and washers in the proper order) and put it all back together so that it works perfectly! And there was great rejoicing.

“We” finished clearing off the infamous white counter, including dealing with all those framed pictures (plus an embarrassing number of picture-less frames), sorting the puzzles, and thrifting a few games. And lest any Zoo Animals experience a touch of anxiety in reading the previous sentence, Fear Not! Although Dad really wanted to get rid of the waffle blocks, I vehemently vetoed that motion, stating with gusto that said waffle blocks are a heritage item for me, that they can no longer be purchased, that we do have grandchildren, and that I want those waffle blocks around for their use someday. He acquiesced. = )

To celebrate our many accomplishments o’ evening, we then played two games of pool, the second one of which I won!

And here is the “after” picture of the white counter. It used to be so piled up that some of you may never have even known what color it was.

Would somebody PLEASE remind me to start taking “before” pictures?!?

Smokehouse

I really need to get in the habit of taking “before” pictures.

Decluttering my life is very fulfilling and brings me a lot of pleasure. Actually, I’ve been “kinda sorta” working on it off and on for many years, but it’s become a primary, regular focus in the past eighteen months or so. Decluttering applies to all kinds of stuff: digital stuff (scrolling through files), emotional stuff (working through feelings), and physical stuff (sorting through piles, boxes, drawers, shelves… and smokehouses).

I tend to take pictures of a space after it’s been decluttered because I’m so proud of having finished the task and I’m so pleased with the fresh, new look. But whenever I take those “after” pictures, I always regret that I didn’t think (or was too ashamed) to take a “before” picture, so that there’s no documentation to show the comparison.

In this instance, I once again forgot to take pictures of the smokehouse before Scott and I tackled it, but those of you who have seen it may remember – or can imagine – how embarrassingly messy and dirty and piled-up it was.

Well, here’s how it looks now. This first picture is looking straight in through the door toward the backyard side and far right corner. I tied all the tomato stakes in same-size bundles, and we threw out several tubs of junk. I think the Chuck Pennel sign adds a colorful and sentimental touch.

Turning 90 degrees to the right, this one faces the Coffee Road side and corner nearest the laundry room door. We moved the shelf from where it had been (straight ahead when you walked in) to this corner, where the two beat-up, super-heavy file cabinets full of birds’ nests and other grahdoo had been. Scott insisted on keeping the slightly shredded kickball bases and all the scraps of wood. I agreed as long as the wood was neatly stacked (it is), and the other items were totally contained on the shelves (they are.)

Another 90 degree turn to the right has me facing the house side, where we hung our sleds. We ditched a number of the plastic ones because they were cracked or defective in some way. I was also going to ditch the wooden sled with metal runners because the runners are bent so that I’m thinking you can’t sled on it, but Scott said, “Oh, but isn’t it a heritage item?!?” And yes, of course it is. It’s the sled we had on Kingoak Drive when I was a kid. We moved it to NLR where it almost never snows – although we did usually get a nice ice storm the second week of January – and it came with me to Missouri. We Robertses used it for years to sled down Smart Lane before Mr. Zahner had it paved. The sled still says “VARNER” on the bottom in my dad’s handwriting, and Scott’s right: it is precious enough to merit a place in the smokehouse, even though it may not be functional. Although now that I think about it, there may be a way to straighten out those runners… hmm… It’s hanging up behind the red and green sleds.

One more turn to the right leaves us facing my gardening shelf, which I cleared off, throwing out a truly crazy number of pots, saucers, and useless items, and retaining only the essential products and tools I actually use. The orange bucket and green tub were cleaned and relocated to the playroom, and the pots to the left of the orange bucket were neatly re-stacked after this picture was taken. We swept up a Pigpen-sized cloud/pile of dirt, and then, since it is, after all, the smokehouse, we shoved as much of that pile as possible down into the large cracks between the uneven sheets of plywood flooring. What we couldn’t shove down we scooped up into a tub of junk that went out to the street where Raintree Disposal gladly hauled it off.

I am very satisfied with the results. Now I can go into the smokehouse with pleasure instead of dread. Over time, I’m expecting the same to become true of the rest of my life.  = )

Overly ambitious

Given our innate differences in personality (introvert/extrovert), our differences in what we consider fun, fulfilling, or energizing (“why do something with people that your could do by yourself?” vs. “why do something alone if you could do it with someone else?”), my current physical limitations (minor knee issue, major foot issues), and my ever-increasing “loss fatigue” (weariness with and resentment about nearly always losing to Scott – even at pure luck games!!!), we have been challenged lately to come up with things that we enjoy doing together. But we have realized that we both very much like to declutter. = )

We’ve successfully tackled the kitchen junk drawer and one or two other small areas, but I think we bit off more than we could chew with our choice the other day to “set a timer for 30 minutes and clean off the high shelf in the shop building.” Now really, what WERE we thinking?

For one thing, the shop is full of all kinds of things about which we disagree. More accurately, there are many items in the shop that we agree we don’t need to keep, but in most cases, I want to throw it out and Scott wants to give it to someone who could use it.

For another thing, even getting to the high shelf is a bit of a logistical challenge. I didn’t think to take any before pictures, but here’s the shop interior as we left it 30 or 40 minutes later.

While Scott navigated around the bike, stood on the end table, and pulled himself up onto the armoire, I fulfilled rather useless tasks like driving the Durango up to the shop and then walking back and forth to the house to get a broom and dustpan, enabling My Hero to handle all the climbing and heavy lifting. He’s a gentleman, for sure.

I could see the blue baby bath and a bed rail, and I knew the Christmas stuff was up there (~4 boxes), but the number of additional boxes he hauled down was truly impressive. Even more impressive was the fact that most of those boxes had numbers on them.  I had labeled those boxes with Sharpie marker numbers when we packed them in Little Rock 23 years ago, and I had listed in a small red notebook the main contents of each numbered box. As Scott heaved them down, weaved around the piles of furniture, stumbled over the rolled-up carpet, and hoisted them into the back of the Durango, he panted, “Some of these boxes we haven’t looked at since we moved! “My college textbooks; why on earth do I have these?”

“You don’t even like to read.”

“I never read them in school.”

[Note that my husband completed his bachelor’s degree in pure mathematics at one of the most academically rigorous schools in the state in three years without reading any books. I’m telling you, the guy is really, really smart. A scholar and a gentleman.]

“And if you didn’t read them then, you’ll surely never read them now! Even if you did want to read something, you wouldn’t pick up a 35-year-old college textbook. Throw them out!!!”

And so it went.

 

 

 

 

But there were also a number of boxes of sentimental things, and on those I decided that I (or maybe even “we”) would need to go through those boxes, reminisce, cry, save a FEW especially meaningful items, take pictures of some – or a lot – of the others, and then either throw them out (my preference) or give them to someone who can use them (Scott’s preference).

In the meantime, our excessive ambition means I won’t have to worry about losing at pool any time soon.

Gonna have a yard sale

We’re not, but our church is. The purpose is to raise money for the mission team that’s going from our church to Niger this summer. I think the total needed is about $21,000, so we’ve all been encouraged to donate as much used-but-valuable stuff as possible to the yard sale. This is a great motivator for me, as we have a house and multiple out-buildings just full of stuff. With so much fodder, all I need to do is to schedule the and then discipline myself to start somewhere and go through stuff. I have about a month to accomplish this, and I have already ruthlessly culled my dresser. I think next will be my closet, then maybe Jo’s closet. . . I really just need Jessica to come stand over me and tell me which area to tackle and what to get rid of. My goal is to put at least three things in the yard sale pile every day, starting tomorrow. Anybody want to hold me accountable?  = )

The trash can is my friend

I’ve been listening to some podcasts by a woman who is a homeschooling mom of eight and who started, owns, and runs a full time business.  This lady has a lot on the ball and obviously knows some stuff I need to learn.  She is extremely practical and motivating, and after listening to Getting Rid of Clutter I, Getting Rid of Clutter II, and Getting Rid of Clutter III, I was motivated to get rid of some clutter in my life.

I took what seem like some teeny, tiny, baby steps.

One of the things P.J. says is, “If you don’t use it, get rid of it,” so I thought a lot about (but took no action on) going through the stuff in my kitchen and getting rid of what I don’t use, but yesterday I was more or less forced to address the Excessive Kitchen Utensil issue.  Let me explain.

In the past two months, we have had The. Most. Horrific. infiltration of fruit flies known to man.

I initially thought they were fungal gnats in houseplants, but no.  Fungal gnats move slowly and these guys are more like Speedy Gonzales.  In the summer, we usually have some bananas, peaches, and cantaloupe ripening in a basket on the counter, and they attract fruit flies, so we always keep a small glass of apple cider vinegar and with a few drops of Palmolive nearby.  The fruit flies are drawn to the vinegar and die drinking it.  That normally works pretty well, but these guys would have none of it.  Besides, they weren’t even hanging around the fruit basket beside the fridge very much; they seemed to be over around the sink.

So. .. my next step was to be very diligent in leaving NO food sitting out.  This is quite inconvenient, as it means no fruit can be left out to ripen, and every single dish, pan, glass, and utensil must be thoroughly washed the minute we’re done using it.  Then, in addition to attempting to cut off their food sources, we’ve kept manually swatting at and killing (an untold number of) the little guys, but somehow they still seem to reproduce like rabbits.

I then asked our friend at church who is an exterminator about it, and he said that the goal is to figure out where they are nesting, that they like drains, and that if we weren’t on a well, he’d recommend pouring some bleach down the drain.  We had become so desperate that I decided to heck with the well, and I have taken to pouring about a pint of bleach down the kitchen drain every night.

I even had Scott buy one of those bug bomb things.  I figured I’d set it off in the kitchen and blast ’em all to Kingdom Come, but then I read the procedure on the label, and it’s INTENSE.  You have to cover everything, turn off all appliances, be gone for hours, air the house for hours before re-entering it, etc., etc., etc., so I punted that idea.

But yesterday I found a can of Raid for Flying Insects under the kitchen sink, and it said it kills fruit flies.  Aha!!!  And I was going to be gone that morning for several hours.  So, with a murderous gleam in my eye, I moved all the stuff off the kitchen counter and into the living room, covered the toaster and Andrew’s coffee maker, and sprayed half a can of that stuff into every part of my kitchen, including the sink.  The air was heavy with Raid-ish mist and the floor was slippery with it when I left.

Four hours later, I returned to a dry kitchen, 15 dead fruit flies, and two dead lady bugs.  I was pleased and hopeful.

I wiped everything down and began to move the crocks of utensils and stuff back into the kitchen, and that’s when it occurred to me that I really didn’t use all of those items.  Hmmm. . .  In fact, I didn’t actually use most of them.  Maybe I could get rid of some of them!  So I pulled out the ones I use regularly and returned them to the counter and I put all the rest in a paper bag which I dated and set in the pantry.  Anything I don’t get out of the bag for a month is going to the thrift shop.  = )

And then I went to my desk to deal with some email stuff and saw that there were 50+ messages in my in-box.  Most of them were there because before I could delete them I’d need to do something, and I never seemed to make time to do those things.  Yesterday I did.  I spent more than one hour and less than two systematically taking action on ALL THOSE EMAILS, and now my in-box is down to nine items!!!

I am on a roll, albeit a very small one, and I am gathering momentum.

There was a fruit fly over the sink this morning.  = {

A baby step

We had a dinner meeting with our Roberts Vacation Rentals employees at Chick-fil-A this evening.  We were two men and four women, and we women realized through our discussion that we all struggle with having messy homes which are at least partially the result of having too much stuff.  We shared some funny stories, and I was highly motivated to come home and clean out (and throw out) at least something before I go to bed.

I decided to tackle the school shelf in the dining room, the shelf that was supposed to be a place for Andrew to keep his school books and supplies, the shelf where his homeschool stuff – some from more than a year ago – has been piled, the shelf I had intended to get cleared off before school started on August 19.

I am now happy to report that in 20 minutes I cleared that shelf and the one below it.  Now Andrew has a place to put his current school stuff, and the extra Bibles, game books, and score pad are also all easily accessible.

If I took a baby step like this every day, it would take me a mere 16 light years to declutter the whole the house!

Amazing what was under there

We decided, Scott and I, to take a few minutes last night and begin to tackle the playroom.  It is, as I have mentioned before, virtually crammed with stuff, most of which really ought to be thrown out.  We only had about 30 minutes, and I said that I thought we should just tackle one very small section, so we could start and finish in our allotted time and have success.  I believed that would give us momentum to go back in and attack it again some time before 2014.

We walked in, and Scott said, “I know what I want to work on.”  It’s always good to know what one wants and it communicate it clearly, but I was not ready to hear him say, “I want to do under the pool table.”

My first thought was that that couldn’t possibly be too bad, but when I actually bent down to look under there – which I never do – I was appalled.  The entire space, from one end to the other, from one side to the other, and from the floor up to the bottom of the pool table, was filled with junk!  Here are a few of the finer items located in said space:

1 creek shoe

my big red suitcase

a beat-up roller backpack full of softballs

a 3′ by 4′ piece of carpet

the padded-topped wooden block box

one slug (not dead, but shortly dispatched by My Hero)

two empty shoeboxes

a box of miscellaneous parts and tools from our (21-month ago) bathroom remodel

piece of plywood (approx. 2.5 feet square)

one black and purple flip-flop (too small for any flip-flop-wearing feet that live here)

four empty amazon boxes

a water gun

my carry-on suitcase

one book crate

a bag of stained towels from the Reunion Rendezvous

In a mere 23 minutes, we dealt with all of it.  Now, the only things under there are my two suitcases and the book crate.  I felt it was a worthy and successful investment of our time.  My very rough estimate is that the volume stored stuff in the playroom was about 1096 cubic feet.  By tackling the under-the-pool-table space, we knocked off about 72 of those cubic feet, leaving us a mere 1024 with which to contend.  Or, in other words, we have now officially completed 6.57% of the task.

I think I’ll forget the numbers and just concentrate on how nice the under-the-pool-table space looks.