Am I Becoming My Mother?

I pride myself on offering good advice to my aging patients. When they are upset during the Christmas season because they either can't get out to purchase presents or can't afford to buy gifts for a growing family I make suggestions like, look around your house, you have something that someone has admired give it to them now so you can see them enjoy it. The bonus is, it will clean out clutter in your house. This past Christmas I had acquired some of my grandmother's and father's possessions through an estate sale, that is another story for another time. I gave each one of my children something from their family history. I also found something of meaning to give to my brothers. I can enjoy seeing them use these things without owning them myself. I have too much stuff, so do you. I became acutely aware of this condition when working with my brothers on a family cleaning day at my parents. They are the Monarchs of owning stuff, none of which needs to be discarded. I made up my mind, while I still had it, that I was going to consciously discard broken or useless items when I ran across them.

I might think that I am able to give my patients good advice but I wish someone had taken me under their wing to offer advice on how to deal with my own parents. My brothers and I found it necessary to clean out our parents two car garage after daddy fell over Lord knows what and cut his face badly. Buried among the four trailer loads of broken, useless (to us) items we discarded I found an old Tom's Peanut glass jar that was in imminent danger of getting broken, an old handmade basket filled with rotten potatoes, and a large cotton basket that was being crushed from lack of space. I thought that my parents would be thrilled that I wanted to take these three things home and save them from certain destruction, use them in my home now, and pass on as memories of our family heritage. Not so, even though I asked my father if I could have them and he said yes, all he remembers is that I took things out of the garage. There are so many things in the garage and tool shed that they no longer use or need, not to mention having several of the same items purchased because they probably couldn't find what they were looking for, that would go to good use to the grandchildren who are buying their first homes. Well, it ain't gonna happen.

We have abandoned all plans to do anymore cleaning or discarding of any of their "things". The last time Tim and I cleaned in the house they had a panicked look on their face until we promised that we were only doing some deep cleaning and would not throw anything away, except the rotten fruit in the refrigerator. Momma and daddy were not so sure of our promise. They followed us around from room to room while we dusted, vacuumed, and cleaned glass. You would have thought that we were a work detail lent to them by Kilby Prison. They never took their eyes off us and had a distinct look of relief on their faces as we drove out the driveway.

Okay, I am going to consciously discard broken or useless items myself, but I am still deciding the usefulness of the stack of decorating magazines on the screened porch. I will not, however, be able to return the items to daddy's garage as I can not fit that cotton basket in the Miata. Have you ever uttered the phrase I am becoming my mother? Future stories may come from a psychiatric hospital. I'll keep you posted.