Sifting Through The Memories

When Jane and Ed's mom moved here several years ago, they had a moving company just pack everything up and bring it down. No sorting, no discarding, no effort whatsoever. Despite Betsy's best efforts to get them to consolidate what they were moving, they found it easier to ignore and keep.

They couldn't bear to part with stuff, but they didn't need it. Meanwhile, we've got an estate sale company coming in and they'll sell what we tell them, but we have to cull from the overflowing house what is wanted and what is not.

Ed's got the fun task of sorting all of those items that were shoved in the garage, Mom's closet and wherever. It's not that I don't want to help, rather, I don't know what is important and what is not.

One plus of our unseasonably cold weather is that he's able to work in that garage and open box after box and take trips down memory lane. Some things are good, some not so good.

He found

Simba's ashes, in a can, in a bag from the vet. Rather than deal with it, the bag got tucked away, and eventually into a box. (Simba was the litter mate to Jiminy, the cat Jane put down in January.)

Personal effects from his sister Nancy's passing five years ago. It's strange to find the wallet of someone who hasn't been around for a long time.

Pictures from the various trips the family took. He attended a NASCAR race at Pocono in the 70's and has now compiled all the pictures from that trip, as they were divided among several family member's photo albums.

The plastic Christmas decorations his Grandmother used to display in her bedroom and a ceramic Christmas tree Betsy made. This is strange, considering his family had barely decorated for the holidays in all the time he and I have been together. (I think that's why he enjoys the fact that we do.)

It's somewhat easier going through other people's stuff, even if it's a relation. They're not here, they don't need it. On the other hand, the remaining corner of the garage is full of boxes of Ed's stuff and it won't be as easy to pitch or put into sale when it's his memories he's sorting through.

Only time will tell.


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