An Inventory of My Life

For the last 11 days I have worked virtually non-stop on the inventory needed for the insurance company to evaluate our lives.  It is nearly impossible to remember every single thing you had, how long you had it, and what brand it was.

The kitchen and my bedroom were easier than my sewing room and the garage.  I had room full of fabrics i have collected for 20 years.  I had rulers, patterns, kits from places we visited on our travels.  I had little things, like thimbles, needles, clips, markers.  How does one evaluate that?

The glue sticks I used for the hexies probably cost $10, but to list each thing as a line item is impossible.  I don't have the time to do that either.

I have to provide a website supporting the price so they can evaluate it and a date I purchased the item so they can devalue it.  It is awful to think of my valued treasures items on some impersonal list -- the batiks and the cottons, the thread and the pins, the cooking utensils and the spices, the pots and the ice cream maker, the the dog show ribbons and the photos of my sweet Dutch taking his championship, the magazines I edited and the minutes from the CAAWS meetings from 15 years ago. 

All just items on some list that a stranger will place a value upon.  And most come up as valuable only to me,  not at all to an insurance company. 

It is harder still to think of these things as valueless.  They are so valuable to me, so valuable that they bring tears to my eyes when I think of their complete loss.

And even though we have a policy that has replacement value, we still get 20% lopped off the top. j
Just for fun. 

I guess the  inventory of my life will always be lacking.  It will never be complete.  Or tangible. 

It will just be valuable in my mind until the end of time.