Mr. Neebes started it.
"Hey, Quin, what do you have in those storage sheds?"
Realising he would continue the question until I caved in, I responded. "Ummm, which one?"
"Which one? You have more than one?" He's not looked this surprised since he found out one of his shows was going to be built on platforms two feet off the ground.
"Well, there's the storage shed at the house, and then all the stuff in the garage I couldn't fit into the storage shed I rented...and I also have the one with Dad's stuff in it that I've never made myself go through."
"You. Have. Four. Storage. Sheds?"
"No, I have three. And the garage. Are we going out for lunch? I thought Sisterwife mentioned food."
This became Mr. Neebes goal, to move me out of my little Utah home and back to New York. He's arranged for a realtor, a landscaper is showing up on Monday and.....
.....he opened the storage sheds.
It was kinda cute the way his face went all white so that his freckles stood out like that.
You see, my name is Quin, and I am a bona fide pack rat. Yes, even though I organise people's lives, even though my closet is arranged in colour order, even though I have OCD, I can't seem to get rid of things.
He can't figure out why I need three rocking chairs. I tried to explain, one was my great-grandmother's, one I rocked all my children in, and one... well, um... well... it's so beautifully made, it rocks by itself when you push it...so, I need to keep it, don't I?
We won't discuss the 'discussions' we had over lamps. And the fact I think I need three large mirrors. After all, one came from a whore house in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Not that I knew any of the whores, but, I love the history of the thing.
He's ripped things out of my hands, ruthlessly throwing them into the truck. My cherry bedroom set... gone. My sweet curio cabinet....gone. (He doesn't know I hit the shi..stuff that went in it) The sofa, my Morgan-Stuart sofa.. gone. "You simply don't need this stuff. Why pay to ship everyday china when you can buy it cheaper than the shipping rate?"
I hate when he's right.
I'm losing antiques I've lugged through four homes and three states, things that have never seen the light of day. BUT, one day... I may need them.
Of course, it's not as bad as my father, who taught me everything I know about packratting. We moved three large dish barrels over the course of 20 years, barrels marked 'FRAGILE-DISHES'. Carefully they were put onto trucks, carefully put into storage. New Orleans to Denver to Golden to New Orleans to Durango. It was there I finally asked, "What is in these things?"
He wasn't sure anymore, it had been so long since they'd been packed. We pried open the tops...and found they were empty.
Twenty years of moving three empty barrels. Imagine.
I currently have them in my garage. You can never tell when you might need a good dish barrel.
I have two mirrors from a barber shop that date from 1860. I have antique dressers and nightstands and butler tables and lamps and hand carved bed frames and a librarian's desk and a lectern from an old school house and oil lamps and china brass beds and iron beds and curios and their cabinets and this great old phonograph case and books and dvds and photos of people that I have no idea who they are and I have prints of Blue Boy and Pink Lady that are 120 years old. I have quilts from my grandmother and blankets from my children and on and on and on. I have five tea sets. Five. I have no idea why. I was made the collector of all things family. I've washstands and paintings and hope chests and a beautiful copper lamp with a cranberry glass shade.
It's going to be one hell of a garage sale. He thinks it's all going... all I know is, my little flat in Staten Island is going to be...cozy.