Selling a House is a Revelation: Downsizing As an Act of Will

In a few days, my house is going on the market. It's time--not only for someone else to make this house their own, but also for me to get into a situation where there is family nearby. This move is proving to be its own learning curve (and I hate learning curves).

In most of the homes I've sold before, there's been some emotional component. In this case, not. That's a big difference. For one thing, I haven't been living here more than a few years, although that's been long enough to amass "stuff." But mostly, it's because after months of packing and downsizing, I've decided that I should have done it when I moved in rather than as I move out.

I suppose we all have some small shred of the hoarder in our souls. It was too easy to say (as my late partner did), "Well, it doesn't eat much," and then keep it because "there's room" and we might find a use for it someday.

Bad idea.

Bad idea is my big take-away with this house. Without the clutter, the house looks bigger, more orderly, and more able to display the things that truly matter.

The Boehm porcelain birds, for example, look regal and artistic in the china cabinet when they are no longer surrounded by things that say "Souvenir of . . .." Admittedly, the kitsch has sentimental value, but when faced with the need to pack it, I developed an entirely new philosophy: I decided I did not need to own it. I decided I could take pleasure in imagining someone else owning it (and polishing it).

With this new idea in mind, I set at the mass of things with vigor, looking for things that absolutely had to be moved to the new house.  In these, I included family heirloom stuff, particularly when it had been promised to someone. Then all furniture in good shape over 50 years old, newer if not made of particle board (hats off Ikea). And things that could lead someone to say, "I remember grandma using that."

Now, I'm not saying that even these first things were all absolute keepers. I packed away the things I couldn't bear to part with (like my grandmother's wedding present, a Wedgwood and silver salad bowl). But the rest definitely could be set out for others to go through to make selections. Why wait until one is dead?  Let them have the pleasure of cleaning the stuff.

This idea applied absolutely to physical books that weighed a ton. Unless they were first edition, signed by the author who might notice if they were gone, absolutely needed for craft or profession, or likely to explode in value like comics, I figured they could be enjoyed on line.  There was one caveat though. A complete collection of  Zane Grey novels with tattered covers that really ought to have gone to charity was saved by the claim of 100% certainty that they would be read yet again. I caved on that one.

And then there was the clothing that we promise ourselves we will wear once we lose a few pounds (particularly if it still has the original tags on it). Just because it was expensive or a steal, though, didn't mean it deserved  space. Let someone else enjoy the thrill of finding it amidst racks of faded t-shirts or by rummaging through your garage sale (if you are brave enough to have one).

On the other hand, I resolved to de-China myself, unless it ought to be made in China. Like Ming pottery or jade. Charity shops are clogged with cheap imitations that people tire of. I kept the real stuff, because its appeal lasts. I felt the beauty of a good European porcelain dish bought at an estate sale. It fed my soul. It got to stay.

All bets were off with appliances and electronics. They're all made somewhere else, so I had to decide how much I used it and what shape it was in. Ripped Teflon coating was an immediate discard no matter how much the use. Burned on food stain, ditto. Out went my oversized electric frying pan. If I really needed it, I'd replace it later. I realized that an electric can opener was not a life necessity and that, in fact, I preferred the hand one I had been using for years. The food processor and blender were not negotiable, though. This is personal and preferably done in private, as when men sort their tools.

Old computer equipment, on the other hand, got recycled immediately. I reasoned that it would not be useful as a backup no matter how expensive it was originally (we had three towers each with a different floppy drive). Unless it was a museum piece, an original PC or Apple for example, I knew that Microsoft wouldn't support the older programs any more. I used to love Xywrite, but it got bought out, and I knew that the old hard drives I kept as well as the floppy discs were not going to be helpful except as discussion pieces. It was a wrench because I remembered what I had paid for the equipment (in the thousands), but if it had outlived its usefulness, it was better to reclaim the chemicals rather than have it sit in my closet.

Today I sit in a streamlined house that I could have had all along if I had only had the drive and the courage to go through the process. It's nice, but only part of the process. What comes next is equally important. I'm going to be doing this all again as I unpack. It will be interesting (to me anyway) to see how well I follow through.

Bohemian Rhapsody and the Critics

It's a rare occasion when I comment on movies. In fact, I don't think I ever have before. In the case of Bohemian Rhapsody, I am prepared to make an exception. Not because of the movie itself but because of what the critical reception says about critics and criticism.

I use the word "reception" very loosely because the critics, or those who fancy themselves serious critics, did not receive it well at all.

From what I can gather, the critics wanted to see a salacious expose of what they assumed to be Freddie Mercury's sex life. Instead of XXX, they got PG13, however, and they were pissed. They wanted what Bill Maher called "the suck dick" parts. When they didn't get them, they tried to overlook the film, including Rami Mallik's stellar performance, by predicting that the other nominated films were more obvious choices for Oscars.

Clearly, Queen fans did not agree. They turned the movie in a money-making juggernaut, indicating that there was only so much personal detail they wanted to know.

It was hardly surprising that the critics should be demanding the "details" because they did so even when Freddie was alive. As he kept pointing out to them, he was a musician and his private life was private. They behaved as if he was withholding information to which they had a complete right.

Well, if that's what the critics wanted, they'll have to wait for another movie made with a different purpose, and I can guarantee them that very few of Freddy's fans will go see it. The fans went to Bohemian Rhapsody to participate again in the songs that defined their age. Freddie's sexuality wasn't the key then or now. Somehow, he was more than whom he slept with.

Bohemian Rhapsody is Freddie Mercury and Queen seen from the point of view of the band itself. Band members were not part of his free-flung life outside the band. They had wives and families to occupy them, so there is no necessary reason they would want to explore his lifestyle. They acknowledge it, since Freddie made no particular effort to hide who he was, but they don't dwell on it because the story is the music, the tours, and Live Aid. These are the very things that Freddie himself asked the critics to focus on.

What the fans wanted was a recreation of a time and a particular set of people who played iconic music. This they got in spades. Rami Mallik simply became Freddie. This is only the second time that I've seen the melding of actor and character. The only other actor who convinced me like that was George C Scott becoming General Patton.

Despite the critics, this movie has stirred interest again in a band that was active in the 70s and 80s. I was not a Queen  fan at the time. My age was folk music. But after seeing the film, I went out and bought the Platinum Collection of the Best of Queen. I'm quite sure I'm not the only one.

So, critics, from time to time people rebel against you. Please try not to choke on the popcorn as you offer your sneers about things and people that have become icons and are likely to go into history books.

PS: I have advanced degrees in English literature but have read very few Nobel Prize winning authors with anything other than angst. Sometimes critical judgment can be so lofty the writing just doesn't touch the heart.