Mamacita says: Clutter.
I think far too many people set far too much store on “things.” The value of our “things” – be it sentimental or actual – is often so high, in our minds, that it is inconceivable to us that everyone in the world doesn’t want a chance at our “things.”
Thieves steal other peoples’ things. Things are ruined by flood, tornado, hurricane, and other natural disasters, for Mother Nature also seems to want a chance at our things.
Some of our things are necessities, of course, but others are just pretty, or sentimental, or add to the decor in some way, or help us remember someone else. There is no need to get rid of everything, but wouldn’t a happy medium be nice?
The older we get, the more people we know and have known, the more experiences we’ve had that we want to remember, etc, and the clutter souvenirs and mementos start to pile up.
We’ll be adding some of my MIL’s things to the things we already have, but to do that, we’ll first have to get rid of some of OUR things. We work all day, and many nights, so until we can find a few larger blocks of time, some of her things will remain in her house and other of her things will join our things, but until we get rid of some of our things there’s no ROOM for her things so her things will be sitting in the middle of various rooms until such time as we can find time and space for them.
I’ve also discovered that certain things that once held great value of some kind for me no longer do so, and I can give them away or even discard them without a lot of gnashing of teeth and unfettered weeping.
What I’m really discovering – once again, because I already knew this but it fades back in between times – is that the blending of our loved ones’ “things” with ours, is a kind of continuity of life.
In my home, there are things that once belonged to parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, friends. . . . when I see and use these things, it’s almost as if someone I loved and lost is there with me again.
Grandma’s bowl, Mamaw’s serving dishes, Mom’s casseroles, Dad’s books, Grandad’s toolbox, Papaw’s hat, Great-grandma’s aprons. . . . Our beloved dead aren’t really gone, you know. Bits and pieces of them are still here with us, carrying on with us in a day-to-day fashion, and when we use the “things” they left behind, still warm inside with the heat of their hands and bodies, shiny with the patina held only by silvery things that have been handled by many, many people – no new silver shines quite like old silver – they are with us again. The fingerprints of our beloveds are all over the most important “things,” and the MOST important thing they’ve marked is our hearts.
Vases break. Flowers die. Fabric rots. Pictures fade. But memories? Nobody can take those from you. * Even Mother Nature’s worst can’t wash away the memories.
Best of all? When the family gathers to SHARE memories. No mere treasure can hold a candle to it.
*Except perhaps Mr. Alzheimer, but we won’t go there