A NEW BEGINNING

I sit in a one-bedroom furnished unit on the 2nd floor of an immense apartment picture-uh=cc70a6247f6d9f682bb52dfcf6c33e88-ps=cda78b55a912998faf611fa8fbfeca29-4209-Lassiter-Mill-Rd-Raleigh-NC-27609complex nestled in a shopping mall in northern Raleigh while writing this post.
Two weeks ago we moved out of our house in Chapel Hill after 14 years. A cold heavy rain began to fall as we pulled the door behind us for the last time.
A week before that, amid packed boxes stacked in various sections of ourIMG_1692 house, Layne Sizemore, photographer, came to take a portrait of me for the book jacket. See how positive I am? IMG_1684 (1)A friend and fellow writer, Linda Jay, also had her photo taken. On that warm autumn day the leaves and acorns rained from the towering oaks that surround our deck. We lucked out that none of us was hit by a projectile nut.
We have five more weeks until our townhouse is completed. Besides my sending off my manuscript to small presses, my husband and I will frequently check the progress of the new construction, take daily walks, explore the neighborhoods, have lunch and dinner out more than we normally do and, best of all, see more of the grandkids.IMG_1742 - Version 2

MOVING

My husband and I are planning to move from our home of 14 years to be closer to the grandkids. I’m looking forward to our new life but I’m dreading the shedding. Our last two moves were compliments of my husband’s employer so we didn’t have an incentive to discard our “treasures.” I still have my record collection of 331/3, Vinyl record45 and 78’s (some of you younger readers haven’t a clue what I am writing about). Now that I know I can find any song by any artist on Spotify, giving them up won’t be difficult, especially since I don’t even own a record player.

After my mother died a decade ago, I had one suitcase and a cardboard box with all her belongings that I collected from the nursing home. In our attic I still had her pots and pans, silverware, dishes, cookbooks from the 1920s, an afghan she crocheted, a framed picture of the Black Madonna,

Black Madonna
Black Madonna

and a prayer book written in Polish.

My son is coming to visit over the weekend. He doesn’t know it yet, but he will leave with a box packed with a blue case holding his Hot Wheels collection; Morgan, a tattered white long-eared dog; a story he wrote in the 5th grade about his hamster, Squeaky, and pictures he drew of the family when he was three. What he does with these treasures I don’t want to know.

Morgan
Morgan

I had given my daughter a similar box last year. I haven’t heard any comment from her but I can imagine with a husband, a job and three boys to take to soccer, baseball and football practice and swimming lessons, she put the box in storage with thoughts to look through it when she had a moment to herself. However, after she placed the valuable objects I had brought by the stairs to her basement, she reached in and grabbed the stuffed animal I safeguarded over 40 years and said “This isn’t Pookey!”

In anticipation of cleaning out the attic, I have fortified myself to donate, recycle, re-gift and responsibly discard some of the stuff we have taken with us in the past two moves.

Except maybe for the old nurses’ cape with the red lining that my son put on when he was a superhero one Halloween.nurse's cape

Patty, me and Sherry
Patty, me and Sherry
%d bloggers like this: