'Clearing up the clutter' by Marjorie Stiling
14/02/2008
It comes to everyone. In anticipation, sensible people like you and me, make a Will. Then we can go on enjoying life knowing , that when that time comes, the legal path will be smooth for our family and friends left behind. Our estate will be taken care of, our wishes carried out. But what about our clutter? "Clutter? " I hear you ask. "What clutter?" Clutter. That mass of what, for years, its owner has probably been saying might, one day, come in handy. Newspapers and magazines dating from World War One. Things for which there is no further use, but are kept just in case. Everything from a rusty screw to an obsolete electric fitting.
Maybe you have thoughtfully bequeathed selected items to particular family members, or friends, or to charity: your jewellery, pictures, best china, golf clubs, and so on. But in my experience, clutter, and anything not thought to be of sufficient value to bequeath to anyone, is left in a kind of limbo. Then there are acquisitions, perhaps once treasured which, sadly, mean little or nothing to anyone else. Bits and bobs. The kind of day-to-day personal, business, or household clutter that becomes so familiar to most of us that it stays unnoticed, if not unseen. It mounts up over the years, silently, like dust and cobwebs in an empty room. We don't realise how much there is until.. .well, ask anyone who's recently moved house.
But there comes a time, especially if a deceased person has lived alone, when the clutter has to go. Be disposed of. And someone has to do it. Recently, after a bereavement, that someone was me. The Will had been straightforward. The house and furniture (to be sold) had been kept clean and tidy. But even after carrying out bequests of certain personal effects, there was much to do. Every cupboard, nook, shelf, or cranny, was full of things. As were suitcases stored on tops of wardrobes. The bathroom cabinet was stocked with half-empty bottles of medicines prescribed 20 years ago. Pills and capsules, multi-coloured and out-dated, had been kept no doubt as a kind of insurance or economy measure against possible future need.
Piles of plastic bags, and gift boxes obviously thought too good to throw away. Mountains of knitting wools that might have come in useful. A trunk packed with remnants of new material left over and kept to patch or renovate home-sewn curtains and clothes which had long since been replaced and forgotten. The amount of things that remained seemed endless. Where to begin? Admittedly, local papers are full of advertisers who sound avid to clear flats and houses of everything. But I preferred to prune the supposedly, average well-kept house, of its old newspapers, dead house-plants, empty jam-jars, bottles, and junk, before bringing in the professionals. Besides, there were personal possessions, memorabilia, good clean clothes, books, and such like, that deserved to be disposed of differently.
I packed up boxes of good clean clothes, shoes, hats, and miscellaneous items which the Salvation Army accepted gratefully. As did Oxfam, The Red Cross, and other charities. But the careful sorting, packing, and distribution of a wide variety of items that someone, or some deserving cause might have a use for, took considerable time and was hard work.
The experience taught me a salutary lesson. Back in my own home I reviewed my cupboards. Surplus china. Glass dishes, vases, knick-knacks, figurines, ornaments, and worthless holiday souvenirs. I asked myself, how long since those thick glass jelly-moulds were used to produce pretty, wibbly-wobbly fare for our children's tea-parties? How often were all our vases filled with flowers? Would The Merry Monach, and the Coronation Mugs ever appreciate enough to repay their shelf-space?
I phoned an advertiser in the local paper who claimed to buy anything: "Nothing too small. Top prices paid."
Then I saw all the paraphernalia my husband had used before he'd decided making wine was too much trouble, he no longer had the time. And there, true to his form of never casting anything out, the matter rested. As did a dozen demi-johns, two large stone jars, a six-gallon container, two wooden beer crates, new corks, filter papers, and tubing, plus two mysteriously acquired milk-crates unlike those used today. Desperate, I told the milkman about the crates. He said not to worry, he could send them back to London. Heartened, I renewed my efforts and rang a man who runs a local class on wine-making. Did any of his new members want equipment? He turned up later. It was wonderful to see him drive off with his car loaded.
Still spurred to action as a result of my recent experience, I saturated local jumble sales with contributions. The wardrobe doors shut more easily. And my bargains offered in the "Miscellaneous Sales" columns, were snapped up. From now on, I'm keeping a wary eye that I don't become a magpie. Hoping, that when that inevitable "time" comes for me, my nearest and dearest won't have quite such a hard task of clearing up the clutter.