I have been very tentatively clearing space in father's room. It is a reasonable sized room and most estate agents would class it as a double bedroom. It is not, however, a Tardis, and it hasn't been touched since father went into hospital last year and has had a lot of stuff dumped in there, including my sewing machine.
If I was there with a family member I know there would be lots of shuffling around saying things like, 'I don't know, what do you think?' As it is, I'm just pootling on. I have moved six bottles of bleach to the bathroom. I have moved a dismantled shelf unit into the garden (we may end up getting a skip). I have no idea what we are supposed to do with the metal detector. I haven't even started on the top of the wardrobe, as father had lots of bright ideas that he didn't follow through (funny, that rings a bell).
I've just realised that tomorrow they are picking up the display cabinet. I can't even reach the display cabinet due to other stuff being shifted around to fit in the piano, even though I have filled bag after bag.
It is really helpful, I'm getting so much sorted/thrown out/found a place for that I can't really grumble. I am just a little more bewildered than I was this morning. At least I can pick up the Death Certificate tomorrow.
Bear continues, well, just about okay, could be worse.