Abigail, I am doing something similar here and trying to cull the accumulated detritus of close to fifty years of married life after my partner's passing. I am remaining in my home, but it is about the size of a large apartment and full of "stuff" that has to go. Every time a local charity has a drive, I donate cartons of clothing, utensils and books, but so far the great culling has not made more than a dent in the mountain. Love that chair image!
I must have given away about 900 books when I moved. I only brought two cartons of them with me. Now I have a Kindle and a Nook and those work out a whole lot better in terms of storage.
Absolutely, I have a Kindle and it’s tidy, but I have to keep a few thousand books because, you know, the Net is bound to crash and I’d go mad with nothing to read. Best are those old college lit anthologies with tiny print and the major works of everybody. Just one of those would last for months!
Should you need cord assistance, I can offer my son who knows what every kind of cord is and if you will ever need it again. He helped us rid two large drawers of cables of unknown origin. I donated 1500 books two weeks ago to the library, and at current count still probably have nearly 1500 left. I am trying to divest, but I just can't. Four closets jammed with clothes could prove my undoing. I feel your pain. I have rooms full of projects to get to. Marie Kondo knows ***** about real life.
Ah, Cate, the bad news is that there's no end! I'm still buried in the detritus of a lifetime, all of it sort of interesting, but to whom? Luckily, the practice in my building is to leave useful but unwanted stuff in the lobby downstairs. I've seen furniture, a sweet bassinet with a white ruffle and many bags of canned goods. So far I've left a collection of Russian postcards and a jewelry box, both gone in minutes although the taking is always done surreptitiously.
I needed to sit near your words for a long time before responding to your kindness and the depth of your perception. Thank you. I've read most of CD's blog posts and, like you, find her a kindred spirit even though I'm not a widow. Except, of course, I am. The tsunamis of grief, the wrenching, unexpected, stupid and paralyzing reminders popping up like ghosts at the grocery, in a song, in my head, are no different. "Death" takes countless forms.
I had to smile at my own subtext to your life in France since 2010 with a French husband of 86 who may or may not predecede you, but you're bravely preparing to cope. More like, "wisely," the adverb with which I suspect you approach everything.
But my chuckling subtext? The beloved partner of 20 years who abruptly trashed those 20 years and to this minute hides in silence, is French. I could write a comprehensive guide for USians trying to be in serious relationships with French partners, although I won't, but maybe you should. Because you've triumphed with 34 years!
I'm in awe and congratulate you while wondering how on earth you did it. How did you accommodate the worshipping French language as a religion, the educational system that establishes Frenchness as the philosophical First Cause, the hidebound family dependence and overdone clannishness? My ABD-in-Sociology grad school work equipped me to enjoy many, many sojourns in France (You may get a kick out of the last Bo Bradley mystery, STORK BOY, set in St-Laurent-en-Royans in the Vercors where we lived for a semester.), but in the end could not make me French.
Orange County is just up the 5 from San Diego and your journey from here to France mirrors one I failed to make (in concept, not reality - my callous ex lives here and constantly flies back and forth), but I know how difficult that transition must have been, and honor the love that made it work.
It was the Alaska link that got me. This name only occurs in Alaska and here, not in Southeast Asia. And "Kahnkahm" does sound sort of Mongol, so obviously my ghost and his little clan here have slipped through a space-time continuum from that ancient migration. But why? There are no mammoths in San Diego.
Books are the worst to sort and relinquish! I had hundreds in various collections: Native American, theatre, life sciences, sea, just to cite a few. But I survived it, and you will, too. Maybe the neighbor will let you rent his closet.
Abigail, I am doing something similar here and trying to cull the accumulated detritus of close to fifty years of married life after my partner's passing. I am remaining in my home, but it is about the size of a large apartment and full of "stuff" that has to go. Every time a local charity has a drive, I donate cartons of clothing, utensils and books, but so far the great culling has not made more than a dent in the mountain. Love that chair image!
My ex and I decided to stay together 3 times after decided division of property was worse than divorce.
Those names remind me of Cambodian students' monikers when I taught in San Diego in the last millennium. In any case, congrats on your ghost.
Love it! The picture of the chair sums it all up nicely.
I must have given away about 900 books when I moved. I only brought two cartons of them with me. Now I have a Kindle and a Nook and those work out a whole lot better in terms of storage.
Absolutely, I have a Kindle and it’s tidy, but I have to keep a few thousand books because, you know, the Net is bound to crash and I’d go mad with nothing to read. Best are those old college lit anthologies with tiny print and the major works of everybody. Just one of those would last for months!
Plus you can open them, put your nose in them, caress their spines.
Should you need cord assistance, I can offer my son who knows what every kind of cord is and if you will ever need it again. He helped us rid two large drawers of cables of unknown origin. I donated 1500 books two weeks ago to the library, and at current count still probably have nearly 1500 left. I am trying to divest, but I just can't. Four closets jammed with clothes could prove my undoing. I feel your pain. I have rooms full of projects to get to. Marie Kondo knows ***** about real life.
Marie Kondo is young and her brisk method is no match for the burden of history we have stored in closets.
Sterile, I say.
I hope she reads this installment.
Ah, Cate, the bad news is that there's no end! I'm still buried in the detritus of a lifetime, all of it sort of interesting, but to whom? Luckily, the practice in my building is to leave useful but unwanted stuff in the lobby downstairs. I've seen furniture, a sweet bassinet with a white ruffle and many bags of canned goods. So far I've left a collection of Russian postcards and a jewelry box, both gone in minutes although the taking is always done surreptitiously.
Dear Pamela -
I needed to sit near your words for a long time before responding to your kindness and the depth of your perception. Thank you. I've read most of CD's blog posts and, like you, find her a kindred spirit even though I'm not a widow. Except, of course, I am. The tsunamis of grief, the wrenching, unexpected, stupid and paralyzing reminders popping up like ghosts at the grocery, in a song, in my head, are no different. "Death" takes countless forms.
I had to smile at my own subtext to your life in France since 2010 with a French husband of 86 who may or may not predecede you, but you're bravely preparing to cope. More like, "wisely," the adverb with which I suspect you approach everything.
But my chuckling subtext? The beloved partner of 20 years who abruptly trashed those 20 years and to this minute hides in silence, is French. I could write a comprehensive guide for USians trying to be in serious relationships with French partners, although I won't, but maybe you should. Because you've triumphed with 34 years!
I'm in awe and congratulate you while wondering how on earth you did it. How did you accommodate the worshipping French language as a religion, the educational system that establishes Frenchness as the philosophical First Cause, the hidebound family dependence and overdone clannishness? My ABD-in-Sociology grad school work equipped me to enjoy many, many sojourns in France (You may get a kick out of the last Bo Bradley mystery, STORK BOY, set in St-Laurent-en-Royans in the Vercors where we lived for a semester.), but in the end could not make me French.
Orange County is just up the 5 from San Diego and your journey from here to France mirrors one I failed to make (in concept, not reality - my callous ex lives here and constantly flies back and forth), but I know how difficult that transition must have been, and honor the love that made it work.
Thanks so much for writing -
Abbie
It was the Alaska link that got me. This name only occurs in Alaska and here, not in Southeast Asia. And "Kahnkahm" does sound sort of Mongol, so obviously my ghost and his little clan here have slipped through a space-time continuum from that ancient migration. But why? There are no mammoths in San Diego.
Books are the worst to sort and relinquish! I had hundreds in various collections: Native American, theatre, life sciences, sea, just to cite a few. But I survived it, and you will, too. Maybe the neighbor will let you rent his closet.