Rescuing Treasures from Myself

Normally, when I mention rescuing treasures, I’m talking about the ones I find in op shops: items from the past that have been hidden away and scrunched up to look ordinary (possibly in a misguided attempt at camouflage).  Today, however, I’m talking about treasures of my own that have been forgotten, languishing under the house, hoping, in their inanimate way, to be unearthed and enjoyed once more.

I used to have a theory about the boxes under my house: I figured that if I hadn’t missed any of the items they harboured for the past five years then I probably didn’t want them in the first place.  Last weekend, I discovered that could not be further from the truth – a whole treasure trove has been lurking in the dim and dusty (and probably spider-filled) world of Under the House and I was ridiculously excited to be re-united with them.

We’ve been busy putting stuff out as part of the whole business of moving house.  A skipload of junk went away last weekend, along with a load of goodies to the op shop (yes, sometimes I take stuff to op shops instead of taking it home with me).

Last weekend, we all headed under the house to tackle the forgotten boxes, which resulted in a load of junk on the nature strip for collection and a similar load of nicer goodies dropped off at the op shop.  The same one as the previous weekend, in fact.  Around ten percent of the items currently on its shelves probably came from our house.

In the midst of sorting out whose box was whose and dividing items up into junk or op shop piles, I found a collection of treasures I thought I’d lost forever, including my nan’s butter dish and a little dip knife shaped like a chicken.  It was like Christmas, but with more cobwebs.

Half of this set is upstairs and I've been wondering where the rest was for ages. Here it is, in its dust-free glory.
When the Chef wanted a butter dish, I assured him I already had one that had belonged to my nan. Well, I finally found it! I also found a second crib board, which will come in handy if we ever hold a cribbage tournament.
Why have I been measuring my ingredients with boring black measures when I could have been using geese instead? Wasted years, I tell you.
Where did this watch come from and will it cost much to make it so the back doesn't fall off? Only time will tell. Get it? Time? Sorry.
Now you want a dip knife shaped like a chicken, too, don't you? I don't blame you. It's been a sad, chickenless few years without it.

Some treasures were even hiding in my kitchen cupboards, shamelessly pretending to belong to my sister-in-law when they were, in fact, mine.  Witness this scene from last night…

“Don’t forget your toaster oven,” I said to my sister-in-law.

“That’s not my toaster oven,” she replied.

“Are you sure?” I asked, prodding at it, as though this would somehow produce enlightenment.  “It’s not ours.”

“It’s not ours either,” she said and I trust her on this.  After all, she knew that the cupcake tray in the cupboard was hers and that mine was still in a box under the house.  Well, she knew the first bit; the second bit I worked out for myself on the weekend.  We don’t know who’s to blame for the toaster oven, so we’re going to let an op shop decide the matter for us.

“Well, don’t forget your hand beater,” I said, as we moved on to a new cupboard.  You can probably guess what her reply was.

Yep.  “That’s not my beater.”

I’m not going to lie: I was secretly delighted to hear that because my nan’s old Kambrook beater is not quite up to anything beyond looking like a glorious relic from the 1980s and I could do with a new one.  And it turned out I had one all along, still in its box and looking like serious business, possibly given to us as a wedding present and forgotten as I haven’t been keen on any kind of cooking until recently.

So we’ve been doing a brilliant job of taking things out of boxes, but a less fantastic job of putting items into them.  Now that our rented boxes have been delivered, we have no more excuses.  It’s time to get serious and start packing away an entire house of goods whilst desperately clinging to the flimsy strands of our sanity.

Hopefully this time I won’t chuck any treasures under the house and forget about them for the next five years.

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halfwayquilter 26th August 2015 - 4:54 pm

Yes I certainly emphasise with this whole scenario. Go Katie! One too many hand beaters is not a bad thing but if it needs a new home it might like coming to the country! Finally the packing begins – sanity does tend to disappear but don’t dispair it’s not permanent.

Katie Writes Stuff 26th August 2015 - 11:07 pm

The way I see it, I have two hand-beaters: one’s for decoration and the other’s for serious business. I can’t wait to whip up some cupcakes with my new beater in my newer and (hopefully) better oven!

This is the furthest we’ve ever moved, so it’s going to be extra annoying if we have to keep coming back for one last thing. Nothing like as far as your move, of course!

hashigal 26th August 2015 - 9:37 pm

Oh dear God! This brings back many nightmares of house-moving. After a while of living in a small space, I’ve found that there comes a point where I’d rather have the space than the stuff. But then it depends on the stuff. It depends so very much on the stuff!

Katie Writes Stuff 26th August 2015 - 11:09 pm

Moving house is a horrible thing, even if it means you’re going somewhere nicer. I wish I was rich enough to be able to hire one of those companies that sends people in to do all the moving for you – that sounds like the life!

The best thing about the new place is that I have a whole room for my sewing. I can’t wait!


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