And still I'm cleaning out. I've only done two rooms so far. I'm yet to finish the study or look into odd cupboards and storage areas that I generally avoid (under the bed, hall cupboard, and so on).
What amazes me is how much stuff we seem to accumulate. Most of it we use rarely. As I wonder whether to chuck out a small plastic car with a popular brand toy driver (currently a hot favourite with Eleanor), I can see why I still seem to have so much left even after all my hard work so far.
Be ruthless, I say to myself. But with every snap decision to 'just keep this, just in case', I find myself reflecting instead on how hard it is to get rid of things. Things that I've spent time earning the opportunity to purchase, with little apparent value in the end. Was it really worth it?
Which leads me to the old man that we helped on his way the night before last. We came across him, by the side of the road, front wheel off, digging a small hole to make room for the spare. With the help of jack lever, and some grunt work from Fred, he continued on to sleep with family that night in Jameson.
What struck me, however, was the extraordinarily utility of every single thing he had with him in that old, nearly falling apart, nearly empty car. The car worked (albeit a bit noisy with the muffler off). He had a spare wheel. Some tools. A torch and a knife. He said he was prepared to bunk down on the side of the road if we hadn't come past. With his bottle of water, some billy tea, a can of tinned meat.
The only thing he said he was missing was a box of matches. (I would add a working jack, but we had one). Not a bad effort.Our car, by contrast, was so full there was no way we could have offered him a lift without ditching some stuff.
Which makes me wonder. Is all this really worth it? Is all this really necessary? Is it indeed better to have just barely enough, and fill in the gaps with the kindness of strangers and family?
I suspect so.
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