The whole purpose (at least from my Brother's side) of them coming out was to determine what to do with the furniture, so what the fuck was I supposed to do with it in the meanwhile???
As expected, The Bitch was like a vacuum cleaner, almost randomly grabbing stuff and (being that she has the IQ of broccoli) clumsily stuffing it (oh, yeah, that sheet of newspaper is going to help!) into boxes. The sack of shit obviously had never packed anything to ship in her life, so there I was having to aid-and-abet her in order to assure that some of my Mom's stuff would actually arrive in MA unbroken!
We're still at loggerheads about getting rid of most of the stuff, I had lined up a local shelter which will not only come out to pick up my Mom's clothes, but will pretty much take everything else (the furniture, the cookwear, the kitchen equiment, etc., etc. etc.) and give us a tax receipt. My Brother is fixated on having the group that did the appraisal come in, pick up the major pieces of furniture that we're not keeping/taking (charging us $500 to do so), and auction it off. Now ... how much is a 25-year-old chair which needs recovering go for? How much of that will they take? My "guesstimate" is that we'd be lucky to make back the $500.00 on it. I'm beginning to suspect that a LOT of this is angled towards them not paying for the storage locker. They'd rather DUMP my Mom's stuff. Of course, almost nothing of my Mom's has any sentimental connection for them ... The Bitch had always seen my Mom as simply a ticket to Rock Candy Mountain (and so it's just a last chance to "get stuff"), and my Brother has proabably spent less than a month here total over the past 20 years and so just wants to have it all gone. The only things that are an issue for me in this would be the three rugs ... which each were many thousands of dollars ... but all "need work" if they're going to get even a dime-on-the-dollar return.
Of course, my sister-in-law is being a stuck-up bitch about this all. Today they do want to get over to the storage locker to "pick through" the carefully-packed boxes. Somehow the fact that it took me three or more hours of time PER BOX to get that stuff ready to store doesn't matter ... there might be something in there The Bitch wants to take back to Boston.
I am filled with such seething hatred today that I'm having to edit what I say here. There is nothing good that I wish for that bitch, and if it drags down my Brother, well, that's his choice.