Murphy's Law of Downsizing*

* "The amount of stuff you have is directly proportionate to the amount of storage space you have."

OK, so my downsizing story might not be a spellbinder, but it definitely changed my world.

Once upon a time I was on the same treadmill as pretty much everyone else in the free world.  The goal was to have a big house, gold plated this, fancy that, blah, blah, blah.  Whoever died with the most toys won, or so the story went.  Key to the whole scheme was the house.

We were taught to find the biggest one you couldn't afford, then keep looking until you found one a little bigger.

One day about 10 years ago I noticed the shelves in my closet were dusty.  (Who dusts closet shelves?)  As there wasn't much on TV that night I decided I'd do some cleaning.  Everything came out of the closet and it was dusted top to bottom.  Then I started putting things back in and thought, "Why do I have this?  Why am I keeping that?"  

If I hadn't used it or worn it within the last year, out it went.  My Goodwill pile grew and grew until it was larger than my keeper pile.  I found that all my stuff would now fit in one small corner of the closet.  It felt good.

Then I figured I'd go through the cabinets / linen closet in the master bath.  All those old sets of sheets that were there as backups, but were never used?  Gone.  Same with those old ratty towels.  I had stuff under the cabinet so old the labels on the bottles had faded away.  I reduced my stuff by 50%.

I was on a roll.  Over the next few weeks came the other bedrooms, the hall closets, the other baths, the utility, the study, and finally the kitchen.  Whoa, I was living lean and mean!

Eventually I began wondering, "Why do I have this big(ish) house?  Why am I paying all these taxes, and utilities, and mowing and maintaining it all?"  Turns out I didn't actually use but a fraction of what I had.  

Then I met and married K, but she didn't come with much "stuff" so I still felt like we were living excessively.  None of it brought me any more happiness and in fact was just a royal pain in my butt. 

I kept remembering a friend of mine who lived on a 35 foot boat in St. Pete, FL.  He once told me if he brought something new onboard, he had to take something off to make room for it.  That concept appealed to me.  I had developed a phobia of clutter.  

By this time it was 2007, the price of oil was shooting up, and storm clouds were on the economic horizon.  I figured all this would eventually affect the housing market, so if we were going to sell and move somewhere smaller we'd better do it then. 

The "for sale" sign went up and we began in earnest to hard-core simplify.  We kept the furnishings we thought we would truly need, then gave away or sold pretty much everything else, ending with The Mother Of All Garage Sales.

It's amazing what some people will buy.  I was happy to be getting rid of so much junk, while everyone else was happy to be adding to their collection.  "One man's trash is another man's treasure" as they say.

At the end of the day I took the few remaining unsold things and stacked them on the curb with a sign, "Free....you haul it, you can have it."  It was picked clean in 15 minutes.

Phase I complete.  (Not really....it's an ongoing lifetime process.)

Next:  From talking about it to doing it.

S

The kind of Monday that gives Mondays a bad name....

That's what I had yesterday.  I covered work for my bro while he played in the local Homebuilder's Association Golf Tournament.  The profits go to a charity, and since he plays golf and I don't, I figure covering for him is my contribution to the cause.  

When I say he "plays" golf, that's probably a stretch.  He whacks at the ball and occasionally makes contact.  Me....I can't even do that.  I've tried, but honestly it frustrates me no end.  

Despite the fact that golf just bores me to tears, I can usually hold my own until I get to "that" hole.  You know the one I'm talking about....every course has one.  I'm talking about *wait for it*  >>>>
               

....the dreaded windmill.  Grrrrr!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But back to work:  The electricians showed up late, and when they finally arrived they brought a new guy with them.  Actually he worked for them 5 years ago and was an absolute f__k up.  I was glad to see him go.  But now with the local economy again hitting on all cylinders, and with labor hard to come by......heeeeeee's baaaaaaack.  *Ugh*  And despite the extra hand, they still didn't get finished.

Then a new building inspector showed up to give us a  plumbing final inspection.  Here's the problem with inspectors and building codes:  Every inspector interprets it differently.  Something one inspector insist on another expressly prohibits.  

This guy wants the fancy, high-dollar outdoor grill installed now.  We usually wait until right before the homeowner moves in so as not to tempt thieves.  Then he wants the pool company plumber to come do something-or-other.  I asked him why that was my problem?....let the pool company address that at their inspection.  *sigh*

*In my best Rodney King whine* Why can't we all just get on the same page?  

All this in 100 degree heat.  I couldn't have been any wetter if I'd fallen in the pool.  I need these inspections in order to get the utilities turned on.  With utilities comes air conditioning.  You watch....as soon as we get the A/C turned on it will turn nice and autumn-like and we won't need A/C.  Another Murphy's Law / Scott's Corollary.

Oh well.  It just made my glass of wine that much more special when I finally made it back home for the evening.

A more sedate, less frustrating Tuesday would be sincerely appreciated.

S

I went to a fireworks show but a baseball game broke out instead

I live just 2 blocks north of Dr Pepper Ballpark, home of the Texas Rangers AA Frisco Roughriders farm team.  I'll go to one or two games there a year willingly, that due to the fact my hosts agree in advance to ply me liberally with brats, nachos, and beer.

After every Friday night home game the ballpark treats fans (and the neighborhood) to a first class fireworks show.  I love fireworks, but I don't want to see them from blocks away.  I want to be right underneath them....I want to FEEL them when they explode.

Last night it was reasonably cool....well..."not hot", so I thought I'd walk a block down to the park that separates my complex from the ballpark and get a ringside seat to the fireworks show.  To time it just right I found the radio broadcast of the game on some obscure AM station.  

Honestly, and I know this will offend some so I'll just apologize now, I can't stand baseball.  It just bores me to tears.  I mean, 1 guy on offense, 9 guys on defense.  How fair is that?  And talk about over-paid Prima Donna's? Jeez!  (I heard on the sports that some player....I didn't get his name....is on injured reserve after hurting his pinkie finger high-fiving a team mate.  Way to go, Stud!)

So I was very painfully listening to the ball game on the radio.  With one out in the bottom of the 9th I leashed up 'Lil Fucker (aka Luke, the dog) and we headed out.  A couple of minutes later I was at the park settled in on a comfy bench.  

Five minutes later....10 minutes later....15 minutes later....turns out it wasn't as "not hot' as I thought....nothing.  COME ON ALREADY!

Finally I called home and asked K to listen in to the game again and see if it was in extra innings.  Well DUH!  Yes, of course it was.  I'm sure some guy in the press box looked waaaaay out past the left field fence and saw me sitting there, sweating, and gave the signal to hit a late home run and tie the game.

I came home and was just getting into bed an hour+ later when I heard the first KABOOM!  

Murphy's Law / Scott's Corollary  ;)

S