Saturday, September 17, 2011

Just call me Ruth...

I mean ruthless.

12 hours of cleaning out my mothers studio apartment wasn't nearly as bad as
cleaning out her house 8 years ago but still...

HOW, in Gods name, does a woman who doesn't drive anymore or go anywhere accumulate so much 'stuff"?

Practice and practicality had honed my skill and, despite, sentimental ties to many of the pieces needing to be purged, my intent was not to bring more items into MY house - but pack them and send them to the nearest rummage sale.

Commemorative plates of lighthouses, including one of the lighthouse on the island where we had our summer house...

the white gloves I remember my mom wearing to church every Sunday of my childhood...

glasses that I KNOW have a story behind them - although perhaps I don't really want to know what...

'owl' glasses, which I prefer actually, but which clearly are no longer in vogue...

sermons from the 80's -

and pieces of whimsy - which are SO unlike my mom I can't even imagine why she kept them.

At least for a few hours, focusing on minutiae kept me from facing the dramatic change this latest move signals for my mom... that sad reality caught up with me when I went to see her in her new 'residence' - which is 'downhill' in all ways - literal and metaphorical!

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