Well, I should have known it would happen. I am slowly bringing things back here from my mother's house, one small bit at a time.
Mostly they are things which I do not even remember, or if so, only vaguely. Things which do not strike a memory in me, one way or another. Today it was pillow cases, but only the very soft ones, and some table scarves and doily things and tablecloths- you know- things she never used but kept. I also brought back some practical stuff- old, worn towels which Mr. Moon needs in his garage. I swear, I do not think my mother has bought a new towel in thirty years. They are mostly rags.
I threw away three huge yard-trash bags of stuff. Stuff, stuff, stuff. Partially used bottles of shampoo and OTC medicines. Coat hangers. Hell, I don't even know what all. I'm gathering and piling things for Goodwill or another goodly cause. I want the children to come back over and see if there's anything they want.
There are so many pictures. My brothers should be involved in deciding what to do with those. I sat on the floor today and reached in a box and grabbed and looked at packets and packets of pictures. My mother was no better at getting pictures in albums than I am. Pictures of the family from the seventies. Pictures of trips my mother and her husband took, unidentifiable landscapes, the colors faded and muddy. There are pictures of that man- the stepfather- and I look at them and I feel a slight aversion but unless he is posing with one of us children, so what? His sins were with us and the sight of him in the picture with one of my brothers or with me makes me shudder but beyond that...throw them back in the box. I'll start sorting for real one of these days.
While I was there, a huge storm came in and thunder cracked and lightening flashed and the rain poured down but I was fine. I was listening to a book on tape and the washer and dryer were going. I washed up the sheets on Mother's bed and the towels in her bathroom. It was almost cozy there, even with half of the furniture gone, boxes and piles of things on the floor.
It is a fine place for what it is and it is time for us to get it cleaned up, put on the market, and let it go to someone who needs a safe and sheltered place close to shopping, the post office and with a pool right out front and a working fireplace.
I got home and it has rained here and again, I am grateful. We need every drop. When I got on the interstate, I saw a young oak, an adolescent, perhaps, toppled over from the roots. I guess there was wind. Strange to see a tree, lying on its side, the roots exposed like that.
Well, my trees all appear to be fine. I am cooking artichokes as big as a smart newborn's head for our supper. I am going to Monticello to the Opera House and I will see Kathleen and I am glad for that but I have to leave Mr. Moon some supper, of course. There is half of a cake but man does not live on cake alone and I love him and cannot let him just...eat...cake.
So it goes. The load of laundry I put in here is done, the artichokes are simmering, the rain is dripping off the leaves, the sky is very gray but light, too, somehow.
The chickens are doing their evening promenade, I have been to the library, I have thrown things away, I have looked into the face of my abuser, albeit through faded pictures, I am okay.
I am good. Things are merely things. If they do not help us or delight us, we should let them go. Sometimes it is hard to know if a thing represents one of those and sometimes, it is very, very easy to know. As I get older, it seems to get easier.
I suppose that's good. I think it is.