A Ton of Memories

Dearest Rachel –

I think these letters will, for a while, come more frequently, but be considerably shorter than originally intended. There’s no point in trying to put together the disjointed activity of a given day when the ups and downs are such that it would give someone whiplash. Best just to observe a single topic at a time, and move on from there. What changes may come later in the day can be addressed separately.

Besides, it’s easier to digest what comes at you in small bites rather than attempting to devour it whole. Just ask Chompers; the poor old boy practically forgets to breathe while he’s eating.

Anyway, while I wasn’t exactly awakened by the noise, the day started off with the beep-beep-beep of heavy machinery backing up:

The man was back to collect the dumpster we’d filled last week.

Which is amazing, because the last time I arranged for a delivery, we didn’t get it until something like 2:30, after we’d filled a dozen bags and a whole pile of boxes already. But hey, here he was, first thing in the morning. He offered his condolences – “I figured when you said you hadn’t moved that car in a month, it was hers, but I wasn’t going to ask. Man, that’s rough. Thoughts and prayers, man.” – and swiftly loaded it up and drove off.

Scott had warned me to try and argue if there was a problem with overflow or height, but the fellow never said anything about it. Guess we were well within our limits.

Still, there goes a literal ton of memories, off to be sorted (the fellow assured me, to which I can only assume they determine what can or can’t be recycled. So at least you could appreciate that). And it was less than an hour later that he returned with the same container, now emptied, for us to refill yet again.

According to Jan (who’s coming over the afternoon), we’re going to attack the utility room and begin to work on the basement. I really don’t know how that’s going to go, as there isn’t the ease of saying ‘well, this is expired, let’s pitch it’ like with the kitchen and pantry. On the other hand, the stuff in the basement probably doesn’t have the emotional pull of the stuff in the sunroom or family room, which has been in our face the whole time.

I’ll keep you posted, honey, and I’ll try not to be too much of a wreck about it all.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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