And then it hit me...

Today was the last day of the estate sale where we sold the rest of my mother-in-law's things after all of the siblings took what was meaningful to them.  And let me tell you, there was still a lot of stuff for sale.  I don't think I was emotionally prepared for yesterday.  The sale started at 8.  I was there at 8:05 and the street was packed with parked cars and tons of people in a mad rush to score a treasure.  I couldn't deal with the throngs of people, so I spent most of the day hauling more stuff out of the house and onto the driveway.  About two hours in, I started weeping in her empty living room.  I felt so overwhelmed by it all.  Nobody cared that she was an excellent gardener or photographer or knitter or seamstress or that she could bake a mean cookie or that she loved coffee, Dr. Oz, Martha Stewart or a good biography.  They just wanted to walk away with something for a dollar or fifty cents.  And it made me really freakin' sad. Ironically, she hated having garage sales, but boy did she have a successful one.  I don't think I've ever seen so many people.

Today, I was consolidating things and digging through boxes to tidy up the tables and I came across a white folder at the bottom of a box.  There were several pictures from her life, including what is now my favorite picture of her and my husband.  They are in the hills of Marin County.  Erik looks about thirteen.  The wind is blowing furiously in their hair and they are both looking out through the lenses of their cameras as someone takes a photo of them.  It captures her spirit and the gift that she gave her offspring.  She was a teacher who taught all of her children to appreciate beauty and nature and taking their time to do things right. What a gift!

By the end of the day, we were telling the odd sprinkling of people to take what they wanted for free.  I think she would have liked that.  And it was funny, these people didn't just load up their boxes with whatever they could pick, they took their time and selected items that they liked.  I think she would appreciate that.  She was a generous spirit.  In a way, I hope she was there these past two days watching the goings on of her earthly things and how they were taking up residence in other people's houses and apartments. Her things would live on!  But, mostly, I hope that she will go freak out the person who stole the leaf blower and the lady who kept stuffing items in her ginormous purse.  I was too much of a chicken to call her on it.  Those two should be ashamed of themselves.

I'm pooped, emotionally and physically.  I don't think I want to do another garage sale for at least 50 years.  Hopefully, I won't have to.

Out With the Old...

In the weeks following my mother-in-law's death, we had to go through all of her stuff and figure out how to divide the various possessions among her children. This has been emotionally taxing for several reasons.  For one, she had a lot of stuff.  Two, people assign sentimental attachments to certain objects.  And three, death makes people act sort of weird. Out of fairness to my husband's family, I won't go into it, but I'm fairly certain that this isn't the first family to get sort of wacky when it comes to a lamp or a pair of slippers, or an old piece of furniture.

It's just stuff.

I for one am quite tired of stuff.  In fact, I spent the last three hours putting together a pile of stuff of my own to bring to the Goodwill tomorrow.  Out with the old and to heck with the new. I don't need more stuff.  Okay, I take that back.  I might like to get some new pillows, towels and a bedspread, but I definitely don't need any doo-hicky's or knick-knacks or spices or jars or sweaters or anything else that I'll wear once and throw on the floor of my closet to collect dust.

I'm a pretty simple type of person.  I will wear the same five shirts for six months, the same shoes, the same purse and feel good that my clothing choices are simple.  Life is too short to worry if this shirt matches with this pair of shoes or if this purse matches this lipstick.  I've got bigger fish to fry.

So, today is one of my least favorite days of the year because it's loaded with expectation.  I used to think that I was supposed to have some sort of grand time because it's the end of the year.  Or I'd get all melancholy because I didn't achieve all those resolutions that I wrote down in a drunken stupor the year before.

This year, I'm going to take one of those jars that my mother-in-law saved and I'm going to write one good thing that happened each day and put it in the jar.  It could be as simple as "I woke up."  Or it could be "I got a piece accepted today."  Or "My husband told me he loved me."  Or "My hair looked really good today."  Whatever.  Next December 31, I''ll break open the dang jar and read about all the good stuff that happened.  Because, really, it's the little things in life.

And as U2 said so long ago...nothing changes on New Year's Day.  

Why not 27?

Like every other person who resides in America or has an internet connection and a beating heart, I have been thinking a lot about the tragedy at Sandy Hook elementary in Newtown, CT.  In the days that followed the mass shooting, I watched as both sides of the gun debate duked it out in the arena of social media. Some people think we need armed teachers or guards at every school and some people think we need to ban guns or at least ban assault weapons.

I'm not going to pretend that I know the answer, but I do believe that we need to do something. Ann Curry, a television journalist, suggested that we do 26 random acts of kindness to honor each lost life at Sandy Hook.  I liked this idea.  We need more kindness in this world.  We need to reach out and do nice things for people that we don't know.  We need to feel that the world is still a good place despite what just happened. I for one don't want to live out the rest of my life in fear of the world, resulting in home schooling my kids in a gun closet or a bunker filled with water and Top Ramen noodles.

To me, that is ridiculous.  We don't need to retreat, we need to reach out.

So, I started doing a few things and I did them anonymously.  I wrote them down and then I got to thinking, why aren't we including Adam Lanza's mother?  Was she not the first victim?  Or have we already convicted her of being as monstrous as her son?  After all, she knew he had mental issues.  She owned several guns.  She took her son to a shooting range.  In public opinion, she's damned and unfortunately she can't defend herself.

But, guess what?  I know plenty of people who own guns.  And I bet a few of them have taken their sons or daughters to the range or on a hunting trip.  Are they creating monsters?  Why are we being so hard on his mother?  Is it because we have to blame someone for creating a man who destroyed our faith in humanity?  

I'm going to play Devil's advocate here for a moment.  I came from a family of five kids raised by the same two parents.  One of my siblings brandished a gun and robbed several banks.  He also served twenty plus years in prison.  Four of us did not do that.  So, who is to blame for my brother's actions?  That's up for debate.

It's all so complex, but I'm going to do something simple.  I'm going to do 27 acts of kindness.  And you know what?  I may not stop there. 

Happy Holidays!  Stay safe, tell the people you love you love them, hug it out, eat, drink, and be merry!