(Part of this story first appeared on my Facebook page on Saturday, 8/9/14)
We are all piled in Mac’s truck…family and friend, and we’re headed to my parents house for the last load…the last pile, the last box. Moving men are just ahead of us, prepared to sweat and lift and move and push and shove (Thank GAWD) while we pick up, pull up, pack away and prepare to move everything that’s left OUT.
Then the For Sale sign will go up and that house will be a memory. It holds no special memories for me because I never lived there….my childhood home was in many places, moving as often as we did. But all my parents stuff was in this house and it won’t all fit in the new, smaller place next door to me, so lots of it will go in storage until a time comes to go through it all and sort and decide what to keep and what to toss.
Mama wants to keep everything, so we will…..I see I come by that honestly….and there are patterns, jewelry, photos, notes and strings of yarn, all knitted together with 87 years of life. Some of those things hold special memories for my parents, some just a reflection of an earlier time, a tiny nugget of a different place, a different life. I’ll never know all the memories, or what the small things mean and I hate I missed out on that story.
We’ll work together, packing and boxing the last remnants, and labeling so we’ll have a clue what each box holds when Mama wants a recipe or a pattern…
In the corner of the living room, under a box of pictures and receipts, covered in dust and memories is my old piano stool. When I was 5 or 6, Daddy bought me an old, upright, used piano for $50 and I’m betting it was part of a payment for carpenter work he did for many of our friends and friends of friends. I was in Heaven and couldn’t WAIT to start taking lessons.
But I HATED that piano stool…I wanted one like the piano teacher had ~ the long, sleek bench seat that you could raise the lid and stash sheet music and lesson books inside ~ that was the seat I knew was the best one for playing the piano. I had NO use for that rickety, small, uncomfortable OLD stool.
As time went by, the stool went along with us everywhere we moved. The last I remember it being used was as an extra seat when company came to dinner ~ a rare occasion. I began to see the beauty in that old stool ~ the glass balls for feet, the well-worn, smooth wood on the seat, the hand carved legs. I have no idea where it came from but that’s on my list of stories to hear ~ very soon.
Today, the stool sits in my living room ~ waiting for Tater to spin ’round and ’round on it, and maybe sliding it under her own piano one day, taking lessons….and wishing she had a long, sleek bench of her own….
At 51, I think I have YEARS to go before I have to do this….but I should be more careful, more sharing, more aware and tell my family the stories I want told. They might not listen, but I hope they hear what I’m saying and remember it when I turn 87 and am packing all my treasures in a box. I’m gonna go ahead and make up some labels that say, “Glitter” because I feel pretty sure I’ll have LOTS of it by then.
Thanks for reading my words ~ If you LOVE them lots, share them with others, too…..Your mama (and mine) would want you to share 😀