March 11, 2016
Sorry sorry, was in the basement, have not composed a diatribe, in a minute or two. I have been and you (so you won’t have to hear any more about it) and I (as it will be done until the next box sails thru the door) and will be EXCEEDINGLY pleased when it is completed. Which I am no where near being. I have rooting around and reliving myself. I have not only gone to the basement, but run hither and yon. I was up in the linen closet or any closet in my path to be honest. Clothes and coats, gone, boots and flower vases. Not a rhyme or a reason to it. Just stand and fill bags and boxes.
I have kept many over the years. What???? cry my dear and gentle readers, boxes. I have boxes, empty boxes, the boxes that the coffee urn, kettle, condiments containers’ came in, as I thought what a good way to move the kettle, condiments container in, when and if I reposition myself. The years past, they have broken, busted or and have been replaced, but the empty box bearing witness to the hard work remain. While we work thru another kettle or what have you, with yet replacement boxes, layering the basement walls.
I also have occupied boxes. Open a box and out pops a remembrance, a location, a memory or two, some of them not even mine. I have boxes and boxes of substance. (Keeping the house in place, I have to admit otherwise we would go floating around. )The huge hardwood table from my grandmother on my fathers side at the farm is going to be re-homed to a second cousin. Out went chairs to a set I never even owned, but seemed to have been here when I arrived, to the curb and were picked up by some enterprising soul who needed them. Next we opened the boxes sent to me from mom. I was not just raving and ranting when I said I had generational junk.
I have boxes and boxes of pictures, (we were so young, so skinny! ) some still in frames, some in catalogues, packed form the last purge. I have a brief case full of packets of pictures. (so easy to carry) I still have some hanging on the walls. I am barely hanging onto those, as the interior designer has been thru and pointed a finger and said be gone! More crayons and colouring books than I would like to admit to. Tablecloths in abundance and towels. I went thru and made a bag of sheets, and lo and behold I open a box and there are more sheets.
Lucy continues to hold her own, a little slower, and up and down. I do the same. Thanks to my mother, not a single cardboard box has found its way back into society. We receive gifts in boxes from stores that went out of business twenty years ago. Erma Bombeck & Moi