Mom's Boxes

Our study has been filled, for the two months since we sold Mom's house, with fifteen bankers' boxes filled with Mom's things, which I dragged home from the final cleaning, as well as an assortment of expanding folders and binders.  I had already removed my dad's papers, and worked them into a book about his life.

 

There were all sorts of treasures and clutter to sort through--hundreds of old Christmas cards and letters, photos, Church talks, playbills from the 1930s and 1940s, and autobiographies of Mom's relatives, from Aunt Mildred to Uncle Bill to Mom's cousin, Beatrice, the genealogist.  There were also semi-useful items--a metal butter warmer, Thai silk fabric, a candle snifter, a ceramic bowl Mom used for salads.  Dave gave dire warnings about what would happen if I didn't finish my sorting, and I met his ultimate deadline of June 8, 2013.  I condensed all of Mom's and Dad's papers into three filing cabinets in the garage, which may remain, Dave promises, until the two of us are finally gone, ourselves.

In the process, I learned fascinating things about Mom's life, including details of her ill-fated romance with her Congressman boss, and about the huge web of friendships that she nurtured clear into her nineties.  I gained even more admiration for my endlessly energetic, loving, curious, opinionated mother.  I also cling to the tangible reminders of her love for the exotic--a Burmese shan bag, lengths of bright-colored silk that were never "made up"--as well as that salad bowl that is dear just because my mother used it so often.