I've unleashed something in my bedroom. Don't know if it's the moth balls, the mold on the leather or 40 years of whatever can grow in the dark and damp. It's all over my bedroom floor, in piles related to subject... most of what is certainly trash has been taken care of (Don't tell Momma I called anything trash, please. When she's not angry with Charlie's older brother Jerry, she still reminds us of the great emotional and sentimental devastation we caused when the church pulled a hoarder's intervention on her in '99.)
The pictures are awesome. The jewelry ranges from total costume junk to some truly lovely fine jewelry. There's all Daddy's (That would be Charlie Sr.) medals from Korea, all the news clippings from the rape and murder of the 14 year old aunt Charlie never met... and the subsequent stories from the trial... the amount of ammunition found stored next to the the mint condition vintage car Avon decanters is mind boggling.
This is my third time trying to consolidate three trunks to one. It's getting easier to recognize the difference between the envelopes marked "very important papers" and papers that should be preserved. I'm pretty sure the records of bills paid in 1984 are no longer necessary. The actual insurance policy is important but everything the company has ever sent... not so much.
Honestly, this is the stuff I love doing... but today it's interfering with the ability to breathe. Time for some benadryl and a break.
It frustrates me to no end the computer has decided to quit recognizing the scanner. These stiff and crackling snapshots from 50 and 60 years ago need to be preserved... and I'd love to show off what an adorable toddler Charlie was. One way or another, we'll get them all saved digitally.
What to do with 75 pounds and 20 years worth of Happy Meal toys is something I don't know how to tackle. I'm fairly certain the possible value of even the rarest item will be outweighed by the time it will take to unearth is, research it, clean it, and try to sell it.
Okay, with or without a player, the Beatles 8 track stays.
Krys is on her way over with Dora. I need to get this stuff packed back in the trunk and hope the air clears a bit before they get here. It's Grandma time.
Oh, and for the record, I've written, worked on an overwhelming chore and hung out downstairs... that and 15 minutes of PT exercises for my shoulders. Yeah.