Can’t Take That Away

Within the next seven days I’m hoping to receive keys to the Wakefield centre flat which’ll shortly become my nouvelle demeure. A rental residence which’ll hopefully become base for the new start yours truly seeks following sale of his parent’s home.

A completion date of 2nd September for our (my siblings and GJ Strachan’s) former parental abode has been provisionally agreed. Pleasingly, acquiring the apartment passkey around a month earlier affords time to undertake a less hurried transition between properties. A convenient set of circumstances bearing in mind I’m undecided whether to employ a removal company for the shift.

Securing the keys early is a boon, providing me a short time period to flit between residences. In addition to gifting a brief window to gain some semblance of becoming accustomed to life in a two bedroom city centre flat. After a lifetime of living in suburban houses, I envisage it’ll be quite a cultural sea change for this capricious chap to adapt to.

My buddy Sarah’s input has been invaluable when it comes to clearing/cleaning cupboards in the property I’m vacating. Additionally she’s also cleaned out both bathrooms, in the process imparting me with much needed knowledge of how to clean a toilet properly….. Blimey, who’d have guessed you’re supposed to flush the loo more than once a week?!…… Before you judge me, I was only saving water.

Whilst the lassie from Ossett parish undertook her voluntary cleaning duties, a furry face critter embarked on a purge of chez Strachan’s garage contents…… Incidentally, that hirsute visaged character is me, not the dogs Zella or Deano.

Among these binned trinkets paint brushes my dad had owned for decades, unwanted tools and a piece of art depicting a miserable looking lass which was signed by someone called Da Vinci.

While undertaking this task it soon became apparent my garage shelving was awash with familial pearls from times gone by. I’m informed by those who’ve undertaken similar housecleaning of late parents homes it’d manifest melancholic emotions pulling heartstrings like the GB Tug of War team on steroids.

And so it proved. During my two hour stint in the dustiest room of the house I was confronted by a plethora of triggers stirringing recollections from over fifty years of family history.

Although the consensus from those individuals was ruthlessness was required when disposing of this dust and cobweb ridden regalia, there are some things of sentimental value I’d never ditch – Generations of family photos for example.

Anything I’m unsure of retaining have been stocked on the ‘I’m Undecided What To Do With These Family Trinkets. I Need To Confer With Ian & Helen’ shelf……. This so I can…… well, errrrr……. refer to their retention merits with my siblings Ian, Helen during their upcoming visit.

Footnote – Despite my penchant for creativity, I was never any good at composing sharp, pithy names for garage shelving….. And if you don’t believe me you’re welcome to ask the ‘Stuff Which I Can’t Normally Locate Easily; Or, In Fact, If I Do I’ll Mislay Immediately’ shelf.

I’m particularly reticent at not purging anything which maybe Ian or Helen’s sentimental chattels. This next few weeks, where we’ll bid adieu to our beloved parents home will be emotional enough without me recklessly binning effects they’d aspirations of claiming as memories of our beautiful forebears.

Anyhow, as the sands of time diminish for the Strachan clan’s residence in this place mum and dad always made so warm and welcoming, the skips been booked for a fortnights time when the purge of half a centuries chattels and furniture will begin in earnest.

Many items may be discarded during the days the skip will be drive in situ, but the memories of which they were part will always stay with us. As George Gershwin wrote in refrain:-

“……….. No, no, they can’t take that away from me..
No, they can’t take that away
Can’t take that away from me.”

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