When one is enough, you have probably done some Swedish death cleaning
This is a staged photo: We own more mugs than shown here! Back in August 1986, when my then partner and I packed up our life in Edmonton, Alberta and drove ourselves and the few possessions we could fit into our Toyota Tercel across the country to Halifax, Nova Scotia, it was a big adventure. Once arrived, we slept on the floor — literally, not even a futon mattress until several weeks into our new life; we ate off a Pepsi crate; and we made do without a desk. Of course, over time, we accumulated possessions and ended up moving first to Fredericton, New Brunswick, and then to Winnipeg, Manitoba with a moving-truck full of stuff. Earlier this month, when I was packing up my late mother’s suite as the first act of dealing with her estate, I realized I was reversing the process — sorting through, packing up, giving away and, finally, making do* with just a glass, a mug, a plate and one small frying pan in which to scramble eggs: I no longer had a spatula, so flipping an egg for an ‘over e