a weekend in the attic

There are no photos of said roof void to grace the curiosity of any readers here - the attic is very dark -although there is a sulky flourescent bar which deigns to come on at times when it`s in a party mood.
This weekend I (okay then, not I but V as he can reach things better) have/has been taking things out of the attic so that V can then put some of them back again another day. This emptying the attic has caused much argument and moody looking daggerish grr. It has been a purging process. And we have indeed been to the dump thrice with a car full of grot.

Example:
A large box of Navy News newspapers, with no news newer than 2004 . A suitcase 36 years old with extensive mouse-related damage. Three black bin bags full of paper. Disgusting aged pillows. A Tandy shortwave receiver. Battered box files. Dead electronic gear. Umpteen cables for things no longer owned. Zillions of dull data cds. Three pairs of mouldy leather shoes approximate combined age 75 years. A whole boot full of flatpacked cardboard. Old picture frames. And so much stuff, stuff  so adrift from its original function it no longer bears a name.

I confess to crying over a carefully folded piece of used brown parcel paper complete with parcel marker pen, last seen in the 1970s perhaps, by V`s mother, whose evident love of stationery has shocked even me. I have filled half a sack with odd brown envelopes and rediscovered enough letter writing gear to see me out, as it were. I have filled an old wooden letter rack with all sizes of rescued envelope and paper of different thicknesses , plus enough gummed labels, tie-on brown labels, and air mail stickers to strain the seams.

The last attack we made on the attic was 4 years ago. This was equally traumatic. The suitcase filled with scissors of every possible specification was a total revelation. I was actually frightened. I can only imagine V`s mother had a soft spot for door-to-door scissor salesmen, if there ever was such a thing (well, they used to sell brushes door-to-door, so it could have been a risky marketing decision by the CE of Betterware or 1960`s equivalent), or was a pushover who couldn`t say no, or (worst case) was entirely bonkers. We got rid of the entire scissor collection, most of them unused it appeared, which may be something to be thankful for. At any rate, there was no evidence of blood staining.
Now I have just thought of another explanation - V`s parents, hard up for money as many people were and still are, took it upon themselves to try scissor selling door-to-door, investing some of their savings in a pyramid scissor sales scheme a la Herbal Life or Amway. And then found out, to their horror, they were no good at scissor selling, but were stuck with the stock. A lesson there, if that`s the story, but it`s a bit late now to be pointing out the dangers of pyramid schemes.

Things in attics. The terrible thing is how they literally hang over you - watch you in your bed - press down upon you. And you dont even have the luxury of knowing their history. All that stuff! Waiting and waiting. Brrr.

I have spent good money on 11 plastic boxes with lids. You can see through the plastic. Which is half way toward having some control over the secret life of this stuff from previous lifetimes. The remaining paper tonnage we feel unable to part with at this time has been labelled, and quietened down a little for that. I need several more plastic boxes but have had enough of the past for a while.
Here`s to being light, which, I find out now or simply remember, is what I seriously desire.
Who was it said their life didn`t weigh enough? A Romantic I think - let me know which. Back then, people didnt amass their pasts so easily. They didnt buy that much I suppose, being uncorrupted by consumer choice. It was all about doing great deeds, not suffocation by stuff...or is that a Romantic notion?