Emptying The House

When we put the bid in on the Epstein house, part of our offer was to do the clean-out ourselves.  The house was still pretty full in some places, mostly in the attic, closets, and kitchen cabinets.

  

But I was not daunted.  Going through an old house is an amazing treasure hunt and so much fun (especially for an introvert), and especially if you have a deep, abiding love for old and wacky things.

When we want to quickly describe to friends the state that the house was in, we tell them that there were still clothes in the dryer - that more or less paints the picture. In fact, here is a picture.  Of the dryer.  But don’t look too carefully or your eyes will come across the skeleton of a dead animal on that pile of towels on the floor and you will have to resist the urge to gag and run, as I did, when I went to pick up the towels.

It would appear that when a house lays empty for ten years, sneaky little critters find a way to dig into the corner of the den.  And then it would seem they get turned around quite a bit, especially if the house has three floors and was added on to every which way from Sunday, creating 8,000 square feet of space to completely freak out in. Lamps on the floor with their shades popped off are usually a good indication that a squirrel, raccoon, or skunk has completely lost its mind in your living room. Three others had the decency to go die behind the couch for the movers to find. 

The picture below was taken on the very first day that I walked into the house with the broker.  I brought/dragged my two kids along, one of whom (the one with her arms crossed) does not share my deep and abiding love for old things and she spent the better part of 2016 asking me when the wrecking ball would arrive and if I could drive her home.  I, on the other hand, saw that old couch and nearly peed my pants. 

Plus, there's a matching chair.  

I have a very very hard time throwing things away and I get very very anxious when I hear that things are going to a landfill.  I don’t quite break out into hives, but my throat restricts.  I seem to remember a moment from my childhood when one of the Care Bears put the fear of god in me about trash and pollution and waste to the point where I now recycle everything from clothing tags to toilet paper rolls, I buy my kids clothes from ThredUp.com and I prefer to shop at flea markets, yard sales, and auctions because I am sick to stomach with all that we consume and then throw away.  There was also that fateful day when I made the mistake of ordering a nightstand from Pottery Barn and when it arrived I opened the box to find that it was wrapped in 20 feet of plastic, styrofoam, and dead dolphins and I nearly slit my wrists from the pain.  So while many people told me to pull two dumpsters into the driveway and just hurl the contents of the Epstein house out the windows and into the trash, I decided I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t go room by room and find either a new home or a recycling bin for whatever I came across. 

The first day of clean-out, the kids and I bagged up the clothes that were hanging in the closets.  My favorites, without a doubt, were the 1980's prom dresses and I did, for a hot second, consider keeping them but we collectors have to choose our battles or we are headed for certain divorce.  After we filled the back of the Buick, we drove the clothes across the street to First Presbyterian and filled their donation shed.  It was then that I noticed their sign also said "We accept shoes, belts, purses, blankets, sheets, drapes, pillowcases, and stuffed animals" which I took as a sign from God because you know who else didn't like to throw things away???  Plus, if you took liberty with the word "purses" and stretched it to include "Suitcases, camera bags, camping coolers, and anything with a strap" you could fill another 30 or so industrial-strength contractor bags before you even got to the attic. And on the floor of Mrs. Epstein's closet were a couple of large trash bags containing thick window dressings circa 1963. Thankfully First Presbyterian does not stipulate what decade your donations need to be from.

Not surprisingly, my husband and children did not particularly care to spend the frigid winter months of early 2017 in a drafty (understatement), unheated old house going through items that another family would just as soon throw into a dumpster, so I was often there alone but sometimes I could bribe the kids with pizza and dollar bills and sometimes my husband needed an excuse to get away from the kids. But if you came down to help you had to wrap yourself head to toe in 5 or 6 layers of down.  Most days it was colder IN the house than outside of it.  Our neighbor Andrew brought over a big metal tube connected to a propane tank that shot honest-to-god flames of fire into the living room and we did not die, despite all signs pointing to YES.  Oh, and you also had to wear dust masks but then you still didn't want to breathe because your breath would fill your glasses with fog and sweat and I don't care what the package says, that stupid metal thing that goes across your nose is lazy and dumb.