Bent on celebrating the return of the sun to our cloudy little South Okanagan valley, I joined the rest of the new old agers wandering up and down Main Street and noted a re-occurring phenomenon in our town.
Anticipating the end of their winter retreat, the snowbirds gathered in quiet flocks, standing in front of the real estate offices that dot Main Street.
Many retirees contemplate a move somewhere as they age. The desire to downsize from the large family home spurs the seniors in our midst to consider a change – even a move to warmer climes. With that, of course, comes the moving syndrome when brows furrow, muscles twitch and the china cabinet full of remnants of traditions and memories beckon.
Say the words “move” or “downsize” and your mind starts to spin as you contemplate what to do with Grandma’s collection of teacups or Aunt Grace’s doilies.
Daughters, sons, and grandchildren all come to mind. Would they? Should I?
This causes quite the dilemma as you try to plan the distribution of nostalgia passed down to you over the years – wanted or not.
A quote from Erma Bombeck put this in perspective for me and it goes something like, “The gift that keeps on giving – guilt, that is.”
With a downsizing move only a few years behind me, it is easy to go back to the conversation between my two brains – the pragmatic one and the nostalgic one.
N-Brain: I think that every grandchild should have a tea cup from their great grandma – you can’t give a stranger that precious bit of china commemorating the crowning of Queen Elizabeth II, for goodness sake. My grandmother protected that delicate piece of memorabilia for what – 50 years?
P-Brain (love that little pun!): You have never sipped one cup of tea out of that cup since the day it saw the light of day. It has been packed in a box for 30 years. Let it go. Your grandchildren will thank you.
Let me weigh in now that no one brain wins every debate – at least not in my head.
Tears sometimes blinded my pragmatic self and ruthless energy sometimes pushed past a guilt-driven wish to pay the kindness (and memories) forward.
So, how do you decide what stays and what goes?
If you have personally reached this stage, do you get the proverbial answer , “Not now, Mom, but maybe in 10 years” or “yes” when their eyes are glazed over to hide the “what will I ever do with that “ look?
I dithered away in the solitary confinement of a basement bedroom on this topic.
I needed strength of conviction and maybe a small glass of Merlot to see me through those moments.
I repeated my new mantra: I love you, daughters-of-mine, each of you, so very much – maybe so much, I will not weigh you down with my rubble.
I think back to the scene following my own mother’s death, when her remaining possessions were laid out and realized then that the most precious items were the much used aprons she had sewed from dress scraps, the rolling pin she had saved from the bakery she and my dad had owned or the recipes that were handwritten on cardboard saved from pantyhose packaging and envelopes.
Those are things memories are made of and not the lovely little teacup living out its life in a box in the basement.
So, sort and discard without guilt and gift only what is truly desired.
Invite your family members to speak for their choice of what is up for grabs.
I sent photographs of all items I was discarding and asked for a response.
The following weekend, the charity of my choice received the remaining pieces and voila, I was done.
Or almost anyway.
There has to be room in your new home for one box of guilt-laden gifts and treasures someone might want someday.
EILEEN HOPKINS
Special to the Times
