First Sentence Fridays – Chapter 14

I’ve read articles recently about older parents downsizing and how their children don’t want their stuff.  It’s true, and I’ve experienced this first hand when I helped my mom move here to my little hometown. She’d been living in my childhood home, the place my dad built, and where we grew up, for sixty years. SIXTY years, y’all.  Think about the accumulation of . . . stuff.

On top of the time there, she’s also part of that generation that doesn’t throw anything away. And by anything, I mean I found a baggie, sandwich sized, (at least not gallon!) of shoe strings. Who has a baggy of shoe strings?  Mom. She also had one of bread ties. And another one of buttons. She had old knives my Dad had MADE. I couldn’t bring myself to take a picture of those to show you. Yes. I took them. And yes, she asks me how I like them, and do I use them. (no, and no, but I keep them in case she wants evidence I haven’t tossed them out in the garbage.)

Back to the bread ties.

I said, “Do we really need to move this baggie of bread ties?”

“Oh yeah, I might need them for something.”

(when she wasn’t looking, File 13) She hasn’t missed them. She’s collected another baggie of them though.

Over this past weekend, we celebrated her 82nd birthday. I wadded up the tissue paper. She was aghast!

“Oh no, save it, and when I get home I’ll iron it out and re-use it!”

While I puzzled over ironing out tissue paper, I straightened out all the pieces from the ball I’d scrunched tightly, and tried to fold them into some semblance of what they’d been.

But, there certainly are some things worth having. After my Dad died, I wanted to get back the coat I’d given him, and that he’d worn all the time, as it seemed like he was always cold. You might remember it from a blog post I did a while back called Finding Pennies.

I’ve taken a special dish or two off of Mom’s hands, the sort of items where she’d say, “That was your grandmother’s,” meaning her mom. I have an old hutch that belonged to my grandmother on my Dad’s side too.

I also have this from Dad:

When he brought this car home, it was literally only the body. A shell. No tires. No motor. No seats. Nothing. He re-built it completely, and it runs great.  I’ve shown this picture before, because I’m real proud of what he could do.

 

Sonny can divine water. She has a special willow branch she uses that was her Daddy’s. It shows the wear from his hands, and it was the one she used the day she realized she had this same gift, just like him. He gave it to her to keep once they made this discovery, so it holds extraordinary meaning to her. To lose something like this and to be only twelve years old, makes an impact.  It was one of those things worth having, and for her, it’s like losing him all over again.

 

Chapter 14

After a few days of frantic searching, I finally broke down and asked Mama had she seen my willow branch.

 

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