Outside the box

Don't forget to pack me!

People who have near-death experiences often remark that their whole life flashed before their eyes.

It’s a bit like that when you move house and have to confront all the impedimenta you’ve gathered in recent decades. Unfortunately I have had to face up to all my “stuff” five times in the past 10 years and it doesn’t get any easier in spite of a massive clearance programme on each occasion. I find things stowed at the back of shelves I thought had long since gone to the tip. I discard ruthlessly as I pack and I’m still left with an oversupply to cull further when I unpack.

This time round the Vinnies scored about 15 cartons of unwanted kitchenware, crockery, bedding, towels, ornaments, glassware – you name it. Masses more we hurled into the chasm at the rubbish station.

The lineup of boxes that enhanced the rear of the garage in our last place yielded more tip fodder. We’d got by without some of it for four years since shifting to Australia and hadn’t really missed any of it.

It’s the second big clear-out I’ve had to do in the past three months. My sister and I faced a similarly daunting challenge at our late mother’s place at Easter.

If I never see a packing carton again, it will be too soon.

However, now, after four years of the gipsy existence of leasing a property, we are back living in a home we own – in partnership with the bank, of course. We’ve made what we hope will be our last move.

And now back to breaking in a brand new kitchen, learning the ways of a shiny new oven and finding out if I was perhaps just a little ruthless in my cull of the kitchen gadgets…