When the movers finished with the house our final weight was thirteen hundred pounds over our maximum of 7900.
The shipping office couldn't tell us what the cost would be to pay for the overage to shipped, but I'd heard nightmare amounts of $8 a pound. The detritus of our lives or my antique art table wasn't worth $10,400-- even if it was only one dollar a pound, it wasn't worth $1,040.
Going out to the warehouse and having the movers open the crates so we could go through each and every box and throw stuff away sounded like a nightmare.
Meanwhile the car's differential light came on and the car started making a strange noise.
And we couldn't go out to the warehouse until later because I had a job interview.
Peter dealt with the car, I did my interview--not my best interview I must say--and we headed to the warehouse, way out in Corbeanca to throw literally half a ton of our personal items in the garbage.
We waited an hour while they rearranged the containers and lined up all eight of ours. They opened the first one with a crow bar, and started opening the packed boxes. They made a dumpster-sized box for us, and we started pitching stuff in: books, papers, my head of Hera statue, half empty boxes of stationery, empty boxes and mostly-used-up candles. We got rid of our mattress when I pointed out that it was over 17 years old and even the Embassy only keeps mattresses for 15 years.
My antique table weighed 100 pounds for the top and 100 pounds for the legs. We left behind an Ikea dresser with wonky drawers, and a ton--well, one-twentieth of a ton--of shelves. I parted with shoes, doll clothes, old postcards and a huge stash of fabric. And like a needle in a haystack, in a wad of paper with a seashell and a hair-tie, we found the missing back door key! (Which saved having to have to pay to have the door re-keyed.)
Going through the boxes and throwing stuff out was surprisingly easy. Detached from the house, the items wrapped in paper had less emotional pull. Much of the stuff, like massively-heavy step-down transformers that never worked, we'd meant to get rid of anyway.
We kept kid's drawings, all Stefan's legos, all our clothes, which we'd already culled numerous times in the last month, our antique cabinet, artwork, everything from Camille's room becuase she lives light on the land, and most importantly, photos.
Sitting on an ice chest in a warehouse, having four movers open every box at your feet with a huge trash container next to you is the most efficient way to get rid of stuff!
By nine p.m. we'd gone through six containers and had gotten rid of 1500 pounds. We went through one more container. Peter gave his bike rack to Vlad, I unloaded some shoes and we found the vaccuum cleaner that belongs in the house here in Bucharest. And rice! Why did we have so much rice? One box we opened was a case of packing tape the movers had mistakenly left in our container.
With the last round we purged 100 more pounds, and I traded it for just the top of the antique table. I never liked the legs anyway. I'll buy new, better legs. After I throw something out of equal weight.