Anti Ques or Aunty Qs

By Angela Seneviratne

Scrolling Social Media, a week ago I came across what looked like an interesting page. It was called Treasures in the Attic or something like that. The bits and bobs, Knick knacks and obviously unwanted things were now exhibited with ridiculous price tags that made me think.

Maybe it was time I lowered the gangway ladder and risked my life and limb to crawl up to the attic in this house. Mind you, the house is an 80-year-old structure, and I was not very sure of its maintenance in the attic. One would never know unless one explored, so there I was, hanging on to dear life for the better part of the first half hour, trying to work out if it is my hand that should climb upwards first or my foot, and if so, which goes before the other.

Remember all those television shows where someone finds a priceless antique in the attic? All I have in this one is junk. I am now working on cleaning out the stash of trash that sneaked up the stairs when I was either gone to work or too sick to care. Yes, I will admit it, some of it is my stuff too, and how those got there is beyond me, but most belong to other people.
I’ve always heard that the first step in de-cluttering is to get rid of the things that belong to other people. Easier said than done. I found it easier to get rid of my own junk. I know what is useful and what is unnecessary.

There are, however, a few things I cannot decide on and so they are still pending:

The iron pothook: It has sentimental value, it belonged to my Grandmother I have never met, it was also one of the artifacts from her birth place and I like it. It just happens that I have no place to hang it up since moving. My aunt took it once, I mean stole it, as décor for her house, but it was brought back or was made to return it. So… to the attic.

The Racasetti: I have a large two seat sofa-size painting that I love called “Ships in Port” or something to that effect. Unfortunately, the ships are sinking, and the painting became too shabby to hang. I wanted to replace it, but it seems Racasetti is an artist whose work is mostly found in thrift stores, garage sales, and junk piles. Great taste I have in art, huh? So… the picture is in the attic.

My wedding dress: How can you throw away your wedding dress? Even though my husband - I mean THAT husband and I parted ways after perhaps the briefest marriage in all time, and that too, almost 44 years ago, it is in the attic, gathering dust and turning yellow with age. The trend now seems to be for brides to jump in a lake and destroy the dress after the wedding is over. Forget it. I should have jumped in the Indian Ocean just after the wedding. Too late now.

Before you get too tough on me, be aware I bit the bullet and threw out a ton of stuff. If you want to get rid of things, you must be relentless in purging. I have it down to three plastic bins of stuff and one coffee table. And the bins are mostly quilting.

Throwing away the owner’s stuff is another matter entirely. He still has everything that he owned when he moved here, and more has been added since then. Some of it is easy. I know he valued the set of white dishes, his trophies in various sports, and old photos. That’s a no brainer. But what about the tennis racquet, the bicycle helmet, the dozens of video tapes? So… I found myself spending half the day in the attic stomping silverfish with a bandana over my mouth and nose because I’m allergic to dust. If anyone saw me, they would call the guys in white jackets to take me away and turn me in to a TV programme on hoarders

At the end of it all was that utterly perplexing challenge of climbing down from the attic. I am never good at reversing anyway, and how does one look where one is stepping when one is hanging on to rungs??? It was a painful, prayerful and precarious descent no doubt, and I gasped in relief as my feet touched the floor. It was only then that I realised that the bags of trash were still upstairs in the attic.

Sigh. another day it shall be. Maybe I will be able to report that I got through it by the time I write to you again. Bye bye dear hearts. Keep cool while the weather is scorching over there.