Notes on Decluttering the Bookcases at My Parents' House: Vol. 2 | If It Went In, It Must Come Out

Shichi-Go-San, coming-of-age ceremonies, weddings... capturing family milestones at a photo studio to preserve them. That is, in essence, a very rich and wonderful custom. However, there used to be a tradition in Japan of distributing wedding photo mounts to all one's relatives.

Half a day had passed since I started the task of decluttering the three bookcases left at my parents' house.

When I opened the double doors at the bottom of the largest bookcase, I found the place where the albums were kept. Albums from my childhood that I recognized and the luxurious albums from my sister's wedding caught my eye. And then—

What occupied more than half of the space was a number of 'photo mounts' that, if not quite a hundred, was close to it.

Both of my parents had many siblings, so there were tons of aunts, uncles, and cousins. On top of that, there were couples for whom my parents had acted as matchmakers, and other couples whose relationship I couldn't even identify.

'Who is this?'

A desperate quiz battle ensued for a while.

Be that as it may, what is worth noting is the bookcase's phenomenal storage capacity.
No matter how much I took out, more kept appearing.

And so, we decided to keep one bookcase that my niece likes just as it is. I neatly reorganized the books we decided to keep inside it.

Then there was another one. We decided to move the smallest bookcase from the second floor to the first floor to use it. This was to house my father's collection of Kanze-ryu utaibon (dozens of Japanese-bound books) and albums (including the aforementioned photo mounts).

I managed to empty one bookcase and I feel like I've decluttered more than half of the contents, so I'll call it a day for now. Ten cardboard boxes waiting for pickup are stacked in the entryway.

Now, looking at the bookcase to be moved to the first floor, it was a design that, unlike the others, could not be disassembled. I laid down an old blanket and, with a heave, placed the now-empty bookcase onto it. I pulled it to the door.

No matter how I looked at it, it was bigger than the door. There was only a half-tatami space outside the door, and the stairs were at a right angle.

While adjusting the position of the blanket here and there, I tried tilting it sideways to get it out at an angle. Ah, just one more centimeter. The corner hit and I couldn't get it out.

Maybe I could get it out if I tried to slide it through the door. I adjusted the blanket again (omitted). Once again, ah, just one more centimeter.

I stared at the bookcase standing in front of the door, from the side and from the front, and pondered for a while.
If it went in, it must come out.

It was a rainy day during Golden Week. Taking advantage of the fact that the rain wasn't blowing in, I worked with the windows open. Perhaps because the air was dry, there was no unpleasant humidity. But I was already drenched in sweat. It might be because I was putting unnecessary effort into the wrong places.

Let's just be honest and think about this simply.

"Maybe if I just pull it out as is, it'll come out?"

Slide, slide... I pull the blanket.

"Oh, ohhh!"

The opening theme of '2001: A Space Odyssey' played in my head. The bookshelf was barely clearing the door frame as it passed through.

That same bookshelf was also a tight fit for the width of the stairs.
Who on earth brought this bookshelf upstairs, and when? They really did a job on that.

"So, how do we get it down from here?"
"Let's tip it. I'll pull this part toward me."
"What? Where?"

There are no strong people participating in this round of decluttering. Two people cannot stand side-by-side on the narrow stairs. We pull the blanket, sliding it down one step at a time. My niece, face bright red, supports it from above so that weak little me doesn't end up crushed under the bookshelf.

It felt like a very long time, but in reality, it might have been surprisingly short. The bookshelf, which I feared would have me crying over a battle of mere centimeters, arrived safely on the first floor.

"By the way, what's in the closet?"

That one sentence was unnecessary. When we opened the closet in the room where the bookshelf had been, it was packed solid with back issues of a monthly magazine my sister has been subscribing to for decades.

"Oh, you can move those to the storage shed if you want."

From bookshelf to closet to storage shed—it seems it takes an extraordinary amount of time to finally let things go.

If we could use this closet, it would certainly be convenient.
And thus, our decluttering entered overtime, moving from the bookshelf to the closet and on to the storage shed...

Main Story: End

← Vol. 0 | Orders Came Flying from My Parents' Home
← Vol. 1 | What Came Out, What Remained

Next Time: Record of Decluttering the Bookshelf at My Parents' Home (Separate Volume) | The Sun I Brought Home