A new, small house being built, necessitating deep-digging in the past to eliminate some clutter to make room for the real necessities in the new quarters, is causing me some really nostalgic days. This is what downsizing means. I am sharing a great deal of this with my brother since much of this "hidden" history belongs to him, as well as to me.
Going through stored keepsakes from my long ago years and also some I had kept from children's younger years, my deceased mother and dad and husband, brings back not only memories but also a mixture of sadness and gladness.
I have unearthed newspaper clippings my mother had kept from the obituaries of loved ones, my pioneering days of running a political campaign to become a school board member in the 1970's, receiving the honor of being Santa Rosa's Woman of the Year, making trips, giving Sunday school parties for my charges in Sunday school and what used to be called Training Union, and my children, writing poetry for Mother's Day and Father's Day cards, clippings that told of honors my children and their cousins had received, such as my oldest who graduated UWF, magna cum laude, and many other keepsakes my mother had squirreled away. (She saved everything, and, obviously I followed).
Some of these long-ago activities I did not even remember. There were many, many certificates my mother had received for Bible study completions, working in Sunday School and Vacation Bible Schools. She had cards from and to my dad.
Neither Mother nor Dad was overtly affectionate to each other in their children's presence, but, obviously they shared a deep love for each other. In their later years they were able to express more affection for us children.
They had celebrated 50 years of marriage before my mother's untimely death in 1975.
My move into new "digs" after 38 years in one house also brings mixed feelings. Not only have I lived in this same house that long, I was reared in the older part of the house, which I remodeled and added to and moved into it in 1978.
The property, plus some additional acreage, had belonged to my paternal ancestors. So it has been in our family, now, for five generations. The new house is where my mama (grandmother) and great aunt Lizzie lived.
When I spent teenage years in the old house, we had our first electricity that my dad generated from a noisy generator, and we pumped our water from a hand pump that my dad felt compelled to move every year or so.
That, his moving the hand pump, was always a mystery to my siblings and me. Probably to my mother, too.
With such great changes in my life, I am trying not to be overwhelmed and trying to learn more patience. It is a huge change for me as I plan to live with my youngest son. I am trying to anticipate with gladness the new conditions.
Downsizing cannot be that bad, can it?
This article originally appeared on Santa Rosa Press Gazette: What downsizing means