As you may or may not know, I lost both of my parents early in 2011. Since that time in March, I've been emptying their house, getting it ready to sell.
Recently, I found a couple guys who offered to buy the “contents” of the house- only what they wanted - as opposed to them cleaning the place whistle-clean. I went ahead and took money from them and told them to have at it. Now I'm left with the remainder, the dregs of what was not wanted and/or could not fit in the trailer. I have mixed feelings about doing this, but one thing is for sure, it was the best compromise between going at it piecemeal by myself and lighting a match to the place. I made this decision to save some of my sanity and a lot of my energy.
Dad was a hoarder, Mom a saver, so they collected excesses of stuff-items that were worth keeping, but not in the ridiculous quantities I found in the house. I'll spare you the details and at the same time assure myself that it could have been much worse. To their credit, they amassed a small fortune in goods and could have withstood many catastrophes, especially ones that deprived the rest of the civilization of New Jersey of canned food, surfoam planers, or fishing reels! I had always excused them in that they were the children of the great depression and this was the reason for their crazy excessive collections. Now, as I have learned from prominent sources, this is only an excuse for hoarders. So my parents were more nut-jobs than worthy savers… it's good to know I come from superior stock.
In going through the house in the past year, I have gotten better, read tougher, in choosing what gets pitched and what remains, either to sell, to donate, to keep or to incorporate into art...At first, my reasoning was that any excess would sell at the flea market. But as I have changed my perspective on this (I no longer enjoy flea markets so much, at least not as a seller) and as the pile of stuff grew bigger and bigger, more stuff has seen the inside of the garbage can.
But I digress. What I meant to talk about was the sadness that surrounded me (which was not really present almost the whole time I was cleaning the house on my own) as the door of the trailer of the "contents buyer" closed. It hit me like the cliche: An overpowering wave of sorrow came up as I was driving back to Blairstown. Uncontrollable tears put me on the side of good old Route 80. I grappled with getting back my control, but I could have idled there for quite a while-those waves kept coming and I feel as if I could have cried out the whole past year, washing my parents into their graves. The dog sat watching me, knowing, as dogs do, that this was a time to simply be there-After a while, coming up and calmly licking my face. Just once.
Recently, I found a couple guys who offered to buy the “contents” of the house- only what they wanted - as opposed to them cleaning the place whistle-clean. I went ahead and took money from them and told them to have at it. Now I'm left with the remainder, the dregs of what was not wanted and/or could not fit in the trailer. I have mixed feelings about doing this, but one thing is for sure, it was the best compromise between going at it piecemeal by myself and lighting a match to the place. I made this decision to save some of my sanity and a lot of my energy.
Dad was a hoarder, Mom a saver, so they collected excesses of stuff-items that were worth keeping, but not in the ridiculous quantities I found in the house. I'll spare you the details and at the same time assure myself that it could have been much worse. To their credit, they amassed a small fortune in goods and could have withstood many catastrophes, especially ones that deprived the rest of the civilization of New Jersey of canned food, surfoam planers, or fishing reels! I had always excused them in that they were the children of the great depression and this was the reason for their crazy excessive collections. Now, as I have learned from prominent sources, this is only an excuse for hoarders. So my parents were more nut-jobs than worthy savers… it's good to know I come from superior stock.
In going through the house in the past year, I have gotten better, read tougher, in choosing what gets pitched and what remains, either to sell, to donate, to keep or to incorporate into art...At first, my reasoning was that any excess would sell at the flea market. But as I have changed my perspective on this (I no longer enjoy flea markets so much, at least not as a seller) and as the pile of stuff grew bigger and bigger, more stuff has seen the inside of the garbage can.
But I digress. What I meant to talk about was the sadness that surrounded me (which was not really present almost the whole time I was cleaning the house on my own) as the door of the trailer of the "contents buyer" closed. It hit me like the cliche: An overpowering wave of sorrow came up as I was driving back to Blairstown. Uncontrollable tears put me on the side of good old Route 80. I grappled with getting back my control, but I could have idled there for quite a while-those waves kept coming and I feel as if I could have cried out the whole past year, washing my parents into their graves. The dog sat watching me, knowing, as dogs do, that this was a time to simply be there-After a while, coming up and calmly licking my face. Just once.
2 comments:
With stuff comes great responsibility. We are it's caretaker but for the small expanse of our all to brief existence. We truly own nothing. It all becomes fodder for the trash heap or someone else's awesome estate sale find. I just lost my mom on April. The "stuff" has long been disposed of, some to friends, some to flea market pickers. My advice is to embrace that random excess, take those bits and pieces of "trash" the stuff that makes you the most uncomfortable and melancholy and turn it into something glorious. Joyce Scheetz
Hello,
I Found the piece about your parents dying really moving. Thank you for sharing that!
Love your artwork your strange little people are great. Would love to see more!
Ali
Post a Comment