Eye Spy

My mother is moving. Which means, she is leaving the house that we have lived in for 20 years. This leaves my sister and me to do the dirty work of purging 20 years of collective pack-ratism from our new lives.

My father and mother moved into our house in the suburbs of Buffalo in 1989, shortly before having me. My father sold his boat, and my mother planted flowers in our new yard. The house was shortly filled with plastic and Barbie Jeeps and all sorts of baby oddities. Then came my real collector years, in which I would raid antique stores for bottles, trinkets, ge-gaws, and anything with a tassel. I also love socks, vintage clothes, and my collection of Vogue magazines dating back to around the year 2000. Combine these obsessions with a 20 year period of living in the same room that was never fully cleaned, and problems are created.

My father moved out back in the 2004 period of time, taking his button downs and some tools with him. My mother moved her clothes into his closet, successfully occupying 3 closets. She describes these closets with purpose, explaining that she has her work clothes, her play clothes, and her gig clothes. My father has since bought a condo in the city center building, and has procured a walk in closet. My sister and I have space, but it doesn't include any plastic from our past. Strictly teenage. The condo is adult. Our house was for kids.

Packing up 20 years of my life in one week was at the least...interesting. At the most cathartic, and at its worst sad. Our knew house is a statuesque Victorian, built in 1868, it boasts 12 foot tall ceilings and a killer history. I divided things up into categories, Art/Writing, Memories, Memorabilia 1 and 2, and Knick Knacks (which included such things as vintage cigar boxes and broke 35mm cameras i can not give away).

The week went slow, with over 100 magazines to sort through, and daunting amounts of papers to place in boxes, I woke up late most mornings. I would get to work on the fun stuff, leaving the more serious piles of garbage to the end. Mostly, I got caught up in trying to savor the last few days alone in my room, instead of making it easy for myself to move into my new room. Toward the end of the week, things got more serious and a bit frantic. I shoved masses of magazines in garbage bags, wanting to get to my personal files.

Last night, my friend Erin came over for our traditional farewell meal of lasagna and chocolate cake. After dinner, she followed me up to my room. She is pragmatic and exacting. We moved the finished boxes to one side and set to work on the childhood years. We sorted the pictures, math tests, and drawers full of rock collections. Then came the things my crafty Nana (grandmother) has made me. Things I cannot throw out because I know someday she will die. She knows I cannot throw these things out, that is why she dispenses them so freely. The cloth covered boxes stay, the wall paper covered coffee can she claim works well as a garbage can, goes. Lastly, we sorted the art supplies. She let me keep pieces of twisted metal and rust for future projects. Also, I saved a while box of vintage glasses from being dumped. Erin doesn't know.

This morning, as I was in the process of being late for my bus, I took post it notes and left my mother post-its of what to do next. On a few piles I wrote "Use your Judgment". I will never see these piles of things again. It's ok.