Dust Pan and Brush

Now that the house has been rejigged I am trying to use the stuff that Mum squirrelled away for a better time.

This is one of several dust pan sets she owned. It’s Italian, and i think specifically for tidying up pasta making. — that was the kind of thing she did, come back from a continental holiday with a suitcase full of domestic fripperies.

Well its not hidden in a draw now – its ready waiting to sweep the crumbs off my shiny new counter. The one thing i splurged money on.

MER

Oh the piles of stuff

The initial ‘Oh noes! Stuff to do!’ of coping with a the death of a close family member has more or less passed. And I (there is no we) have moved into the ‘what to do with the piles of stuff’ phase. I’m not going to talk about the emotional bit because I don’t really have any kind of handle on that (watery smile).

Aaaannnny way. So much stuff. And all part of my childhood and family memories so can’t really be shredded out right and chucked in a skip. Did I ever mention that the house I grew up in had six bedrooms… space for plenty off stuff. (Looks like I actually get to use my default category as an actual category for once.)

For example in the back bedroom, where I used to sleep when I came home to look after mum, there are now over a hundred labelled items that I need to process and find homes for. And that’s just one room…

At the weekend I was looking for some papers of my grandmother’s that date back to the 1930’s. Haven’t found them yet, will be most pissed if they got chucked in the last year after all this time. Why is life never simple? And finally sorted through the shelves of A4 and A3 folders. {Found the paper theatre that Phil’s going to get when we meet up for coffee. Happy belated Birthday dear heart. I’m not sure he’d appreciate the two packets of Barbie fridge magnets, but there was also a selection of cut out fashion dolls and houses in the same place.}

So much stuff the shows what kind of person my mum was, and by extension my brother and me. My Dad is all over the house too; his art is hanging on all the walls so it’s a kind of background noise. Mums stuff is a jack-in-box that has to be opened at least once.

Wow! This post has become angst ridden.

So to the part that I was intending to write about this week – the bricklaying career.