My living room looks like it's ready for a yard sale, these days.
There are boxes and boxes of china, pots and pans, cooking tools, and such:
They rub shoulders with cartons of old family books (part of my ongoing attempt to catalog my parents' library):
Bags of clothes and still-working small appliances slump here and there:
Things still in their plastic packaging hang out in heirloom chairs:
Color slides by the boxful (and sometimes, by the wipies-tub-ful)...
...vie for space with leftover light fixtures, with their installation instructions miraculously still intact:
This Tinkertoy on steroids is actually a partially assembled wine rack, which The Hubby and I no longer need since installing a wine cooler in the kitchen a year ago:
Some things I'm not sure why they are, or how they are, in my possession:
A small army of miscellaneous glass and china:
waits patiently near the red chairs I bought at Goodwill (yup, I still haven't taken off all those doggone green stickers):
Bric-a-brac shelves, occasional tables, stretched canvases and framed art lean here and there in the corners:
It is simply impossible for me to assemble a bunch of things and not have polka dots pop up at least once or twice. These are vinyl table cloths I purchased for $1 each. They will probably turn in to shelf liners and drawer liners:
And boxes of...nothing...lie around, waiting.
Everything is waiting.
Waiting for a day, coming pretty soon, when most of this stuff will be carted off to the Funny-Looking House. Whatever Lovely Daughters #1 and #2 don't want, I'll turn over to charity.
And, I hope, The Hubby will stop muttering "hoarders" and "wives" in the same breath.