The insurance company finally sent us the check for the company that did the packout and storage and can clean those items we want them to clean, so Joe went over this morning to review the contents. Unless he changes his mind since we discussed it 10 minutes ago, we’re having them dispose of everything in the boxes. That includes my books. Gulp. But because I have had a nook for about a year at the time of the fire, I had gotten rid of a lot of books because I had them on my nook. The books that will pain me to lose are some very fancy editions of books about the crusades, medieval writers, all my Chaucer books, and my cookbooks. But the thought of not having to go through everything in those boxes is definitely a happy thought.
I told him that the only things I absolutely want are the cedar chest my monster gave me, for sentimental value and because I like to store linens in it, and my exercise bike. As far as I’m concerned, everything else can go. I think he’s keeping the dressers and bed frame. All of the living room furniture–going out. All of the kitchen stuff–going out. Honestly, knowing the soot and chemicals used to extinguish the fire got all through the kitchen, I don’t know that I’d ever feel good about using that stuff.
And I think he’s going to have them clean the piano. Frankly I’d like to get rid of it as well. The woman I bought it from turned out to be exceedingly nasty, and tried to take me to court because she said I was lying about where I lived. While I could easily prove otherwise, at that point Joe and I had the money to finish paying her off, so we did. She got the case dismissed WITH prejudice. Bitch.
I feel good about being able to move back into the house, when it is ready for us to move back into, and have it be clean and uncluttered. I’m going to do my dead level best to keep it that way.