Wednesday, October 4, 2017

{midweek stillness}

Details.

Had intended to open a p.o. box in my mom's name yesterday, but have to have her physically there at the post office, or have power of attorney documents. Can produce neither. Got online and set up forwarding to our house. Maybe easier in the long run. I've gotten to the place where, before I make a decision, I weigh it. Is it causing me more work or not? Having to check for her mail at a p.o. box would be one more unnecessary thing. Glad it was decided for me.

Went by my folks house afterward and said good-bye to it. There's furniture inside that my brother is going to have Habitat for Humanity pick up. I walked through the rooms, found 2 old iron skillets inside the oven. A few things decorative things hanging my brother overlooked, and the old flag we used to hang up. Didn't need any of it, but didn't want strangers to toss them.

My dad was a home remodeler, and build the den on the back of the house. Bye den. (Actually, it's the second den he built. In the original one, I remember sitting on the floor eating lunch when JFK was shot. I was four.) He re-did lots of things in that house. Bye house. They bought the house in 1956, first and only owners. Don't see much of that anymore.

Told my husband last night, it's like a death. Grieving for a house. Haven't ever experienced anything like this. On top of world news, I can tell I'm over the top on my stress meter. I can't take anymore. Not kidding. Me and the whole country.

Slow day. Puttering. No tasks that are difficult. Comfort food for dinner. Preserve my brittle sanity.

Take care of yourselves. 

4 comments:

netablogs said...

Definitely a grieving process, saying goodbye to the only house your parents lived in. That's amazing. I've moved so many times in my earlier years, I can't imagine what that would be like. Take good care.

podso said...

I understand this grieving. So many memories. Houses that are homes, well lived in, filled with stories, yes you are saying good bye to a part of you. That's how I feel about my childhood home--yes where I was when I heard the JFK news … and so on.

Come Away With Me said...

All your memories are there; it's the house that sheltered you and where your life was lived for so long, but now all the ties are cut . . . it truly is a kind of death. Grieve, putter, and eat comfort food . . . just what we need now and then while we regather our strength for tomorrow.

Charm and Grace said...

Well, I am glad it worked out in your favor (the P.O.)... yes, things like houses are attached too much to our memories as if they're sewn in with needle and thread. It hurts to loose them. The antebellum/antique house my mom and dad rescued from being covered by shrubs and trees and that I started high school and finished college in burned several years ago. So many memories, so much work, choosing paint, finishing floors, choosing carpet, wallpaper, refinishing finials and doorposts and windows, etc. So sad. I can never even go and look at it anymore. But the memories are still vivid of its beauty and particularly my "suite" in the upstairs. Hopefully you will get beyond the sad and find your way on to keeping the sweet memories tucked into your heart, treasuring the good ones and keeping them close.