Closing A Door

Pardon any lack of eloquence (or spelling). It has been a long day that was a long event. I emptied the storage unit I rented by my now-sold house on Whidbey Island. Emptied. Swept. Locked it up. Then unlocked it because the lock was mine, not the storage facility company’s. - And then stuffed the rest into the storage unit near my new old big tiny house just outside Port Townsend. Throw in two ferry cancellations caused by tides. Throw in two missed ferries because the rest of the traffic had to fit into the remaining runs. It has been a long day. (Topped with a $2,000 tree tending estimate because my beautiful tree is breaking up and falling down. But that will be a different story.)

Moving within a city? Life may be as simple as renting one Big storage unit. Fill and empty as necessary. Move a long distance and have the money? Hire a company to handle it all. Know you’re selling but not sure what you’re buying? How about two units, one near the first place and another near the second place? ( That’s assuming you at least have a general idea of where to move to.) I picked the latter, which was empathized by the two sites having a moat between them. (Puget Sound)

Fill from the first house to first storage to declutter to sell the first house. Fill from house to second storage after the move becomes more obvious. Empty the house into both. After taking ownership of the second house, move in! But, it is a tiny house, so move in slowly as cabinets and cupboards must be optimized. Things that would simply be dropped back into drawers and closets become much more likely to pause and probably retreat to the storage unit. It is a big tiny house, but it is a tiny house.

Two storage units cost about twice as much. (Duh.) Having two is a luxury, but at times like a move, some luxuries become necessities, or at least great stress relievers. But if it all can fit into one unit plus the house, then get rid of that extra expense, especially if accessing the first one involves a dodgy ferry schedule. Besides, it wasn’t that bad. I had a part-time job on the island.

So, I just lost the island job. No surprise. I was an emergency interim hire as a non-profit run by a friend needed someone to fill in between someone who decided to switch to politics and the next fuller-time new hire. They got the next fuller-time new hire, who also seems to be doing a good job; so, they don’t need me doing the job too. Makes sense to me. Besides, showing up for an island job negates the idea of island-time when a ferry is involved.

A move doesn’t happen in a day. There are stages. There is a progression. Today was the stage that carried extra meaning because it marked the final severing of any official connection to where I lived for ~18 years.

A move has such days. A move into a tiny house has such days, but the clearing of the storage units completely may never happen. For some it will. For many I suspect there will always be an on-site or remote storage unit. I Thought I Was A Minimalist. Some folks rebutted that, but on reflection I’ll stick with my original assertion. Minimalism can be relative and subjective. A true and ideologically pure minimalist could fit all 200 items in their car. I need a storage unit, but the state requires me to store business records. Unsold, but sellable, inventory takes up space. And decades of life have led to decades of mementos.

Which will all get winnowed down as I know now what I consider so necessary that it fits into my tiny house.

Today held some last-minute winnowing.

Drive up to the storage unit and begin packing. If it sat in the storage unit this long either I didn’t need it, or had duplicates already packed. I’ll spare you the detailed list of odd items. It all fit. Almost.

Why would it all fit? There’s no law that the last carload will fit nicely and tightly. The first several carloads over the last several weeks had nice orderly boxes. Rectilinear. Stackable. No chaos. The last load was weird stuff. And it didn’t all fit. There was the equivalent of three milk cartons of stuff that couldn’t find a place in the car. Was I going to have to make a separate trip, which meant a separate day and another set of ferry fees for three boxes of weird stuff? Aargh. There must be another way.

How weird was this stuff?

I took a break, leaning against my car, pondering what to do. Trash? The storage facility didn’t have one I knew of. Beat it all with my mallet? Messy and noisy. Ah, but the closest recycle place was open, which could also take trash, and was close to my favorite donation site. Hop in the fully-loaded car. A short ride later be rid of a wine rack, some plant pots, fireplace tools, and some lamp oil. Drive back to the storage unit. Squeeze everything in, snugly, which was better for driving. Sweep out the unit. Lock it up. Check out at the office. They want the lock off because it is now mine. Unlock it. Drive to the ferry. And wait hours while the boat makes a couple of round trips before letting me on as one of the last cars.

Where in there would you say Yippee? Maybe after I post this. Maybe it would be different to be doing it with someone. One Yippee has been replaced with a series of Whew.

Rome wasn’t built in a day. I wonder how long it took to sack. It would certainly take a lot longer to pack it up.

I’ll start sorting the remaining, and overly stuffed storage unit tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, or the next time it rains.