Weird lasts (my continued chronicle of a downsizing)

Our house sale officially closes this coming Wednesday, which means the truck gets loaded Tuesday, which means this week I am experiencing the anticipatory wistfulness of moments that I’ll never have in this place again. For example…

The last lobster dinner Thursday night, and the last Pad Thai dinner Saturday night. My (now separated) husband traditionally cooks the lobster in this house, because I’m too much of a wuss. I’m glad he surprised me by taking advantage of the sale this week. (Best separated husband EVER!!!) I am the Pad Thai chef, inspired in this instance by the last half-bag of rice noodles and some chicken breasts I discovered in the chest freezer.

I can’t bring myself to kill lobsters with my own two hands, and I’m not sure how often I’ll bother with Pad Thai for just me and the kid who picks out all the shrimp and veggies, so there was definitely something a bit final-feeling about both meals.

The last spelunking dive into the chest freezer before cleaning it out for the new owners, who are buying it. If only those chicken breasts were the only thing I discovered. Clearly I’ve been making and storing far too much recaito for the last four years (recaito is a Puerto Rican mix of chopped peppers, onions, garlic, tomatoes and cilantro that I lovingly make from my own garden each year). Most of it was either too old or unlabeled, so it had to go into the trash.

No more chest freezers for me. I just don’t need that much food, especially if I’m not going to eat it for years because I can’t find it.

The last trash pick-up/the last dump day. This time of year, going almost a full week without it is a little scary. We have to pay for trash pick-up here, so it wouldn’t be cool to just leave it for the new owners. Fortunately, a neighbor has already volunteered to take some. Still, this means that any further de-cluttering has to be thrift-shop-worthy (and since I volunteer in one I know better than most that a lot of our crap isn’t), or it has to wait until after the move.

In the city, trash pick-up is included in my taxes. Yay.

It's called Furniture Inertia Syndrome.

It’s called Furniture Inertia Syndrome.

The last days sitting on this old sofa that we bought at IKEA when our 19-year-old was a toddler.

It’s comfortable as hell and has stood up better than anything else we’ve ever owned, but I can’t move it, let alone re-upholster it myself (though I did buy some fabric to try it — another uncompleted project). The last dump day was our last chance to get rid of it ourselves, but we had no truck yet.

Nobody wants this sofa bed, not even anyone on freecycle,org. Even the local charity I called said “Nobody wants that sofa bed.” They will discard it for a fee, though. Now I just have to pray that they really show up when they said they will. (They do want one of the beds.)

Since they’re coming at just about the last possible moment, we’ll have to leave room in the truck in case they don’t show. And then we may need to take an axe to the thing just so it’s possible to carry it.

(Note to self: Don’t pack the axe yet. Question for self: Why do you need an axe in the city? Answer to self: Doesn’t matter, because you can’t do anything about it now.)

Oh well. I think I’ll go enjoy some of the last central air conditioning.