Well, the basement is organized. After heroic effort, there are still mountains of stuff, but in labeled plastic boxes with lids. I found the tapes of my father being interviewed, his wallet and bible, my baby book, the kids baby clothes and toys, and matchbox cars, baseball cards, and letters, cards and posters. Now, if I get sick of the stuff, I know which boxes to hand to whom. My daughter and her boyfriend were amazing. I took them out to lunch and dinner! Now if my husband can get rid of old computers, we'll really have some room.
If I had done this a few years earlier, it might have been more painful, but now I know the stuff doesn't matter. Whatever the kids do with my parents' memorabilia, it will be okay. It really doesn't matter. I have powerful feelings for certain objects, but that is me. Whatever they do will be right for them. I had a lot of fun seeing jeans jackets I'd embroidered for the kids when they were tiny, their favorite stuffed animals, and washing up doll clothes for my granddaughter. The most fun of all was the three of us putting together my daughter's doll house, and then arranging the furniture and tiny people. Her boyfriend was into it as well. And now when my granddaughter comes - what a treat! The problem is where to put it. Right now it's on the dining room table. I have a strong feeling I'll be moving things around for a while.
Moving things around is what I do a lot. When I vacuum, when I receive a new picture from one of my kids, when I give something away. What a lot of time this moving stuff has taken up in my life. It's good exercise, I guess, but what more does it mean? A way of controlling my environment? The illusion of order? I don't know. But like the years I've slept away, there must be years I've moved the objects of my life around.
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