When my father passed away, my mother vowed to stay in her home for as long as she had her old chocolate lab, Hershey, to care for. My father had somehow had the notion years earlier that a rolly, polly puppy was the ideal birthday gift for my mother, the same mother who had raised five children and adopted every 4-pawed creature those five brought home. I just might have been responsible for a few of them, in particular a little black puppy brought home in a shoebox from the local animal shelter.
The lab-German shepherd mix grew to a massive and friendly specimen who followed children everywhere, popping tetherballs, footballs, foursquare balls and soccer balls to be paid for by my mother writing checks with an apologetic smile and another assurance that he would not get out of the yard again. In the quiet of the night, he would escape to look for someone to play with and a 4:00 a.m. call to "come pick up your dog" was not unheard of. My next door neighbor drove me to get my ears pierced and then to the shelter to pick out a little puppy, who happened to have really big paws and a mouth filled with little puppy teeth in search of something to chew. I would never advise children to bring home a shelter puppy late on a Friday afternoon when the shelter does not reopen until Monday morning, all weekend long it was heard, "He is going back first thing Monday morning!" Years later, especially after a 4:00 a.m. phone call or another ball popped in the schoolyard, we heard "He is going back first thing Monday morning!" One by one we left the nest, but the dog remained until the last of us had grown and trod out to meet adulthood face-to-face. My pierced ears went unmentioned.
It was unlikely, in light of the many years of child and beast care, that my mother would be in want of a little destructive puppy. One year when he picked out sailing lessons for my mom because he had it it in mind that it would be a really great thing to get a boat, I warned him, "Dad, don't do it," but it was to no avail. She accepted and attended her lessons with good grace, although I am sure she was not expecting to find that particular gift under the big floppy bow. They did end up getting a series of boats, and had many happy years sailing, but at the time it seemed a horrible idea for a gift.
For good or bad, he never did listen to me when it came to gift ideas. When he presented the puppy, she accepted it with a tentative smile, eying his massive paws and little chew-happy puppy teeth. It turned out to be one of the best gifts ever, introducing her to many friends at the local dog park, getting her out of the house every day for a morning walk when my father became ill, and was her closest friend when my father passed away. Sadly, the day came when two of my brothers, my mother, and myself gathered around that loving trusting dog to stroke his grizzled muzzle one last time, to thank him for years of love and companionship to my mother, and whisper our good-byes as the kindly veterinarian pressed a needle into Hershey's arm and gathered him up to carry him away. For all the children, grandchildren, and 4-legged creatures she had cared for, in addition to my ailing father, she was at that moment truly left on her own.
Some months later, an apartment opened up at a retirement community. Not just any apartment, but an end unit of the last building overlooking a forest preserve in the coastal range above Santa Cruz. It was like being in a forest cabin, with bright sunlight and views of birds and forest creatures. She was, needless to say, reluctant to leave her home no matter what the view. There was a lifetime and household full of her treasures between her and apartment living. Nevertheless, with the encouragement of her children, she signed the lease.
Treasures are stuff, but the perceptual shift from treasure to stuff is a very difficult one to make. My daughter and I started by going through the house room-by-room with a pad of paper and cataloging everything. As we did so, we formed three lists, things that my mother could not give up, things that she would like to keep, and things that she could give away. We carried a pad of Post-It notes, and as my mother considered a family member or friend for whom an item had special meaning, we marked that item to be distributed to that individual. Weeks of clearing ensued, many items being cleared off to charity or even to the trash heap, and yet my mother remained. My daughter and I returned to help my mother take the step from old memory laden home to new and unknown home. Many treasures remained, and between my daughter and myself we promised to take and to cherish these items. Many of the items returned home to LA with my daughter, but others, such as a full set of crystal and a china service for 12, were boxed and put in our attic on my daughter's behalf awaiting the day she could move from apartment to house. Our item accumulation of more than 30 years of house-holding was likewise augmented with more items.
Some months later, unbeknownst to me, my daughter began formulating a plan to move to Germany with her partner of some years. It was big move for him, London to Berlin, but a huge move for my daughter from Los Angeles to a European capital. My daughter, at this stage in her life, had also accumulated some treasures of her own.
My daughter and I had remained in the same time zone, but a state's length apart for over ten years. Since leaving for college, the closest she came to returning home was after graduating summa cum laude during a plummeting economy. She announced that she would rather give up a kidney than work as a temp, to which I immediately responded, "How much is your kidney worth?" But even my unsympathetic mothering was brought up short when she failed to get a dog walking job, it was given to a certified animal behaviorist. There was nothing out there and things looked grim. I swallowed hard and made the offer that so many parents make in a bad economy, but the offer to move home was received as an expression of failure as well as an expression of love. Fortunately, something did turn up shortly after that and we did not have to test our ability to retain our loving mother-daughter relationship by cohabiting as mutual adults. It did, however, lead to her accumulating and collecting, bit by bit, the treasures and items that make up a home.
The excitement of moving to a foreign land not only required the research needed to obtain visas and necessities for living abroad, it required stripping down to a few suitcases full of belongings. Shipping is prohibitive and it is almost always less expensive to replace things in the new home rather than pack and ship internationally. As did my mother, she thinned out, gave away, and sold many of her possessions. A couple of carloads of boxes made their way to our home and into our attic.
January of this year, my attic was filled with the treasures from two households in addition to mine. And yes, I have met and embraced eBay and have many a treasure of my own. In January of this year, I put my daughter on a plane to Berlin, bringing three bulging suitcases to the airport and returning with one. The cost of the additional bag was so much, we decided to just fly it over ourselves at a later date. In our house the attic was brimming, the cabinets filled, the counter tops laden with goods, and a stuffed suitcase awaited transport; the treasures from two other households plus our own treasures and detritus. Good thing we were settled into our life with nowhere to go and a cozy attic to hold it all.
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