One fish, Two fish, Red fish, Blue fish

I woke up this morning and I could hear my dad reading One Fish, Two Fish - Especially the oh me oh my part. He loved telling us stories. He made them come alive.

These past couple of weeks the conservator has been getting Mom's house ready to sell. mom and Dad's house. The house we spent our adolescent and young adult lives in. The house my parent's bought in the mid-70s to give their kids the best education and to live out the rest of their lives in. 37 years of life - school, first loves, weddings, illnesses, baking, Christmases, Thanksgiving. 37 years of love. 

One fish. 

Voyageur tells me there is a dumpster in front of the house. Oy. Decisions are being made what to keep, what to sell, what to toss. This has not been a good time for me to get home, so Voyageur has been making those decisions with the conservator - and of course me helping out, long distance style. Wallpaper is coming down, paint going up. Untended gardens replaced with curb side appeal landscaping.  Washer/dryer stays. Refrigerator goes. Carpets to be ripped up - beautiful hard wood floors. Mom much preferred carpeting - warmer, didn't have to worry about kids smacking their heads on the floor. 

Two fish

What?! Almost every flower, tree, bush, piece of furniture has a story behind it - a birthday, holiday, anniversary - just because. Don't they want to know the story? Some stories I could hear 1000 times and not tire of them. The crazy tree Mom bought, the kiwi Dad tried to grow. The wallpaper Mom and Dad put up together. The antique end table Dad found at a garage sale, stripped down and refinished. The couches and chairs Mom reupholstered. Sold, in boxes, thrown out. 

Red fish

This is what happens when someone dies - go thru their stuff, divide it up, sell it, toss it. But Mom's not dead. And she has no idea of what's happening. It feels surreal. I talk with Mom - I need to make sure I have plenty to talk about - she loves hearing from me. We talk memories - we loved cooking/ baking and trying new recipes together. So many memories of being in the kitchen - laughing and being silly. And the wallpaper in the kitchen over the years - 70s flowers, 80s bold colors, 90s neutral subtle flowers. Torn down, fresh paint for new owners to create their memories. 

Blue fish

Voyageur has had to quickly make decisions. Keep this.  No, don't throw that out, those are family dishes, a relative may want them. Keep this. Ok, toss that. Wait! I'm not sure. A lot. Condensed in a very short time frame. There is no handbook on how to deal with stuff wrapped in memories. And Mom is still alive. Making decisions for a woman who is strong, opinionated, and knows what she wants. And no longer capable of making even semi-sound decisions.  If Dad was alive, he would say a bug, no lots of bugs with hairy long legs are eating mom's brains. 

It's weird. It's sad - fucking sad. But I can hear my dad say it's just stuff. Stuff comes, stuff goes. Love - love stays. Don't ever forget that. 

Oh me oh my. 

Back at ya Voyageur.