Merories...from the Lady to the Dingo

memories accumulate in many forms;
tangible, intangible.
like an old pair of pants
that got lost in a jumble
of clothes stuffed into the
closet. the day comes where the decision to pare down and donate the excess, long unworn and untouched, and you recall this and that. hey! I was thirty pounds lighter then! I had long hair then. Remember that full beard?
On my return to work, the Lady has decided to get the home front back into shape. The mud hall closet; remember how the doors would no longer close due to the excess of boots, coats, and God knows what? The bathroom that had accumulated clutter and a closet to match the mud hall closet. The kitchen cabinets that are jammed full of bowls, pots, pans...
We sat in the kitchen last night going through the list of donate and hand me downs. My daughter will benefit from many bowls, baskets, pots and utensils. Her neighbor too. There are many bags going to the donate center. Good, usable stuff. And then there is the stuff we're going to keep. Many of mother's old kitchen utensils decorate the wall next to the stove. An old espresso pot given to the Lady by a friend who died while on her honeymoon. Several unique flea market finds. One, a Postum thermometer. Postum was a coffee substitute invented by C W Post, a seventh day adventist who believed coffee to be unhealthy. The church I belonged to (not seventh day) used to promote it. I drank quite a bit of it. (I'm back to an occasional coffee now)
But I hope that the Dingo will come to appreciate the little things as she gets older. When my mother passed, my siblings thought nothing of leaving all the trinkets of memory. An old rolling pin to all her houseplants.
My mother, who took in laundry to help with the bills.
My mother, who took in foster babies while a suitable placement was found.
My mother, who baked almost every saturday and made cinnamon roll ups from the left over dough.
My mother, who babysat the neighborhood kids.
Who took care of my father through his many years of illness.
The gift of memories are in the little things.


transience said…
it's in the little things, indeed. and you sure know where your heart lies.
Rowan said…
yes, they are aren't they?