To the Victor Come the Spoils

Today started around 9:00am. My father is a model builder. So that meant that packing started in the basement, as any good horror movie should. Basements are scary places in most circumstances . . . the ancestral home, particularly so at this point in time. My father the model builder has (very rough count) approximately 250 models in the basement. Some are "commission" work, i.e., he has been given the model by someone to build for them and they will then pay him. There are two entire shelving units (about 100 models) for "Garcia." The problem is that my father has not talked to Garcia in a few years and my father is afraid to call him. If the man is not dead, he may want to know where his models are. Many of Garcia's models are going into the sale pile tomorrow. So Garcia, if you read this blog, give us a call.

The other models were delicately packed (as my father opens nearly every one when he gets it, regardless of when he plans to build it) and carefully labelled in larger boxes. My father is currently in an "armor" phase, meaning he has every different style and maker of Sherman and Tiger tank models there are (trust me on this). I did manage to get him to part with several opened and half built models.

Then there are the books. Oh, and the magazines. "Reference" my father says. It would be hard to use them for reference given the dust that had accumulated on many of them. However, I did get him to part with about 1/3 of the book collection and all of the "Fine Scale Modeler" magazines. The books went for the sale, the magazines went to the curb.

The rest of the basement was filled with some old mattresses (to the curb) and the collection of family Christmas paraphernalia. 1/3 sale, 2/3 with him to be dispensed at a later date. I have already taken the stuff I want. It's in the car. The basement is almost ready (with the exception of the rest of the models and some old paint cans that can't be put on the curb (evidently they frown on old paint, labeling them as "hazardous materials").

My sister arrived shortly thereafter and the party moved upstairs. We packed the dining room and the living room (the family china and crystal is coming with me and the silver went with my sister). Several items were left on the tables in the living room as that room has now become the "indoor showroom" for the yard sale. Works of art were taken off the wall and will be dispersed to me and my siblings, either now or at some future point. I am taking some stuff now.

My mother's desk (which was her father's) was emptied and put in my car for the trip home. A note here. I have three other siblings and you may be noticing that I am getting a fair amount of "stuff." It was decided early on, "I was here, the others were not," so I only had to fight my sister for things. And she and I are the youngest. But to be fair, my siblings and I had divvied up stuff years ago. It's just nice to still have my father around to say "Take it."

At some point today we ran out of packing tape and need to order more boxes. Tomorrow, my father, sister, and I are going shopping for new furniture for his new house. And to buy more tape. And trashbags. Have I mentioned the curb is full?