That’s a Lot of Costume Jewelry!

          I don’t remember being in the ward when the name of Roland and his sons were read over the podium for new membership records. They must have been read the week that mom and I went out of town.

          It was September of 2000.  We had gone to San Francisco to clean out my grandma’s apartment.  A place that housed her possessions but she had not actually lived there for over a year – and yet the rent was still being paid.  How wasteful.

          Mom and I lined the halls with donations.  We had called Salvation Army, DVA, any thrift store or charity that would come.  Nobody would take it all, but every organization took a lot.  Hard to believe that apartment actually held all that much.  I never knew what a very Large apartment my grandmother lived in.

          We designated each room for different things.  We had a garbage room, a record room, a knickknack room, a poison room.  Mom hadn’t lived in San Francisco for years.  It’s not as though either one of us knew our way around – or even had the transportation to do so.  We didn’t know the proper method for disposing all of the pills we found, or the dozen or so ketchup bottles that had been on the shelf for the last 25 years and would have asphyxiated us if they had broken.

We could have probably made a few bucks had we had the means to transport the many items to pawn shops or antique stores.  But alas, we were there for only six days.  And six days was not enough to even to clean even just one room – though we did manage to find the closet with the hideaway bed. 

My grandma went through various stages of being extremely heavy and actually having lost the weight.  Complete wardrobes in various sizes – why would she hang on to all those clothes?  How in the world did she ever find anything?  Maybe she couldn’t – and that is why she continued to purchase.

We discovered actual rooms that had been used as closets.  Tons and tons of clothes.  Enough to clothe all the homeless people of San Francisco.

We would venture out only once a day.  Grab something to eat and dispose of items that the charities and another organizations wouldn’t take.  Or else we would go to the bank and make deposits.  We actually found the nation’s penny shortage in my grandma’s apartment.  Last day.  No time for the bank.

Mom put the many rolls of pennies into a backpack  to carry on the plane.  I laughed when the alarm went off.  After checking her bag, they let her through.  I’m thinking that she wouldn’t have been able to board the plane with all the securities that were added to (and continue to add) just one year later.

Grandma was a hoarder.  As soon as mom and I returned home, we were able to tackle our own basement.  We threw things away.  Many things.  For mom’s house was so much bigger than Grandma’s apartment, and what a nightmare that would be many years down the road when someone else (most likely her children) would have to come clean.  Neither of us believed it would be so soon.  Neither one of us ever imagined that we would have to put mom in a home.  Not my mom.  Not her mom. 

While growing up, I remember mom wearing a variety of jewelry.  I’m not certain when it stopped.  But there came a time she really didn’t wear jewelry all that much.  And yet she seemed to inherit a large portion of costume jewelry from each of my grandmas after they had passed.  She still has them.  I don’t know why.  I don’t recall ever having seen her wear any of it.

My mom has not passed, but we have gone through her possessions as though maybe she has.  Making use of what we can or selling whatever can be sold.  Kayla and Corey are both having a hard time with it as they are still her possessions and she is still alive.  But she’s got dementia.  And she doesn’t remember as much as she did just a few years ago.  And she doesn’t even remember her house anymore – let alone her possessions.

Just a few months ago, I can remember asking her about items that I knew were hers.  She didn’t claim them however.  In her mind, almost everything in the house belonged to Nate – my niece’s husband. They lived in mom’s basement – still do. But they do not own everything.  But mom’s reality is so much different from our own.

Jenna had a grand time sorting through all of the jewelry that mom had accumulated.  None of us wear jewelry.  Sunny does once in a while.  Ellen and I think they’re quite bothersome.  Jenna would take it all if she could.  But she doesn’t need it.  And yet she appreciates it more than each of us do.  It’s beautiful.  It’s feminine.  It has a different value to eight year old eyes than those of us who are over twenty.

Sunny would like the beads – not to wear but to tear apart and use for bracelets that will be created by her preschoolers.  Go for it, Sunny.  How exciting it will be for my grandmothers to see their jewels shared joyfully among so many – even if they are just three and four.  For theirs is a pure joy.  You don’t see that much excitement among as many adults.

Mom had closets full of clothes as well.  Mostly in three sizes.  A lot of clothes – but not enough to clothe all the homeless.  Not enough to fill as many bags as her mom had.  Not enough to line the stairs from her apartment on the third floor to the downstairs lobby.  Still more than one person needs.  But not nearly outrageous as her mom.

Actually there are not as many beads in the collection as there were tons of clothes in grandma’s apartment.  It actually makes it easier for me to toss things so my kids won’t have to.  I don’t wish to be a hoarder.  I may be hoarding memories.  I’ve saved a lot for Jenna.  We are 42 years apart.  I figure she will need something.  But I want her to want it.  I don’t want her to be the one cleaning up after me saying, “What the heck was mom thinking?  Nine staplers.  Who needs nine staplers?” 

Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration.  Before inheriting my mom’s desk supplies, I only had two staplers.  I think I now have seven . . . I had expressed interest in using her unused notebooks and other desk supplies.  Ellen took it to mean that I wanted everything that had ever been in the desk. I think I got it all.

For the most part, most everything I took was practical and in no way had any sentimental value.  I asked for lidded containers and space makers and forks and plates.  They didn’t even have to be good ones. 

I had had my eye on mom’s knives ever since she bought them.  Ellen had wanted them too.  So I let her have them.  I know she will take better care of them than my household will. 

We’re getting things from Carrie’s grandmother as well.  It’s been five years since anyone has lived in the trailer that she and Randy will be moving to.  It’s actually not bad.  It’s a lot roomier than our current house.

Roland.  He’s a hoarder.  And so is our brother-in-law, Bill.  Kayla and I have both gotten rid of a lot.  And our husbands have managed to replace it within days.  So for those of you who read my blog, please pass this message onto my children: Mommy hoarded memories, but it was daddy who filled the space by hoarding more unnecessary stuff.. 

Elephants CAN Jump

          I don’t know how often Roland has asked the following question to various people: “What is the only mammal that cannot jump?” 

          The answer is, “an elephant.”

          Whether it is accurate or not isn’t relevant – not to this post anyway.  Corey liked the title “Elephants Can’t Jump” and thought he would use it for a future post – although he didn’t know what.  I imagined some profound analogy that had nothing to do with elephant at all, but would leave his readers thinking, “What a great post.” as his posts are usually quite thought provoking.

          This is neither great nor profound.  Needed fun to lighten up the mood from many of my most recent posts.

I had memorized Eletelephony by Laura Elizabeth Richards.  It’s a fun little nonsense poem.

Once there was an elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant—
No! no! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone—
(Dear me! I am not certain quite
That even now I've got it right.)
Howe'er it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee—
(I fear I'd better drop the song
Of elephop and telephong!)

I don’t know why I always pick the elephant when playing guessing games. But somehow I find myself using the elephant as part of my outrageous answer, and yet I always do.

Jenna:          “Guess what we did at school today?”

Me:              “I don’t know, what?”

Jenna:          “Guess.”

Me:              “you all rode elephants around the classroom and now the school has a large hole in it where the classroom used to be because the elephants did so much damage"

Jenna will laugh and tell me what really happened.

It wasn’t too long ago when she wrote the following story:

Pg1:   My name is [Jenna].  I never seen an elephant draw.   

         But I’ve read that they write.

Pg2:   Did you know that elephants could write? It’s true.   

         They can write.

Pg 3: Have you ever seen one?  I’m sure you haven’t.  

         They’re really hard to find.

Pg4:   I really want to see one but I’ll never get to see one!

Pg5:   I think Kangaroo’s swim.

(I had added the pictures once I deciphered her first grade handwriting)

And today she asked, “What should I draw?”  

I used to suggest simple things, but today’s suggestion was:  “Why don’t you draw an elephant trying to climb into a keyhole.”

The result:

How great it is to encourage and enjoy imagination.  Because it is through imagination that elephants can jump and fly, read and write, dance and swim.  And that’s such an awesome thing!

Blame It on the Ghost

          Almost every household in America has at least one ghost living with them.  Since being married to Roland, I have encountered three.  Their names are “It Wasn’t Me”, “I Don’t Know” and “I Didn’t Do It”.  The ghost who gets blamed the most in this house is “It Wasn’t Me”.  “I Don’t Know” received most of the blame in our last house – though “It Wasn’t Me” seemed to share a lot of blame as well.

          I find it interesting that about 20 minutes before Jenna returned home from school yesterday, I retrieved a hand mirror from the coffee table and put it in the bathroom.  She couldn’t have been home more than five minutes before I found the mirror on the coffee table again – in almost the exact same position it has been only 25 minutes earlier.

          “Why is that mirror on the coffee table?” I asked.

          She didn’t even hesitate.  She immediately pinned the blame on “It Wasn’t Me” – a ghost that she and Tony seem all too familiar with.  Tony was also a big fan of “I Didn’t Do It” while Randy and Biff seemed more inclined to blame “I Don’t Know” 

          Once in a while Jenna and Biff try to blame one another – which usually doesn’t go over really big as they rarely ever spend time in the house during the same hours.  Of course she is asleep for the most part while he is at work.  And he tries to sleep during the time that she is gone to school. 

          I wouldn’t be surprised if “I Don’t Know” has moved in with Randy and Carrie. Though it’s just the two of them, I think he still tries to pin the blame on “I Don’t Know”  Fortunately Carrie is onto him.

          “I Didn’t Do It” shows up once in a while.  Perhaps that ghost is just a friend to “It Wasn’t Me” who has not actually shown any kind of responsibility.  No one does.  Responsibility?  What’s that?

Nostalgic Reminders, Scanning Photos

          Shortly after my mom had Corey, she went to a Relief Society activity where the sisters were making ceramic picture frames.  They were decorative white oval frames with gold spray touch up.  They would then house all of the 8X10 school (and pre - school) portraits which came home with us.

In order to make them fit into the frame, mom would cut the corners of our school photos and tape them to the back of the frame.  By the time Kayla came along, another frame had to be added.   

It wasn’t quite the same.  The mold itself seemed to match but rather than white with gold spray, it came out more like white and gold mixed producing an antique white or an ugly urinated looking almond/cream type color.

The frames were arranged in a circle.  I think I was at the top.  My brothers at either side and Kayla’s yellow frame at the bottom. Over the years mom would update the photos – even after we each got married and left the nest.  For a while they were displayed over the stairs.  Unfortunately each of us seemed to bump into them.  Eventually one did get knocked down and broke. 

A new frame was purchased.  But it wasn’t ceramic. It was still the same oval shape as the rest.  But it appeared to be wooden – though I don’t think it was (is).  Patrick’s photo was put into the new frame as he had been responsible for the broken one.  His picture hung at the bottom.

Kayla’s frame got moved to be over my photo which remained at the top with Corey and Kayla on either side.  After we added a room to the house, the photos and frames were moved to a wall next to the sliding door and remained there until last week – just before the move to assisted living.

Sunny had taken down all the photos to put them up in mom’s new room.  Sunny did an awesome job with decorating and arranging the photos.  It is one of her MANY talents. 

Corey wanted the photos and photo albums and shoeboxes of photos and so forth.  I offered to scan them for everybody.  I have found most of his school (and before school) pictures.  I had scanned most of mine already – though not as many 8X10.    

Many of those school portraits came out with a more butchered shape than some others.  Funny to go through them now and have all these cornerless school portraits.  I’ve scanned them as they’re the largest.  I find the wallets don’t always transfer with the pixel difference.

There was a power surge last night.  The breaker switch went off twice.  I stopped scanning after the second time.  And now my machine doesn’t want to scan.  I hope Roland’s got the magic touch to make it work.  I still have so much left to scan.

I’m not going to do all the baby pictures of me.  Good grief!  How many baby pictures does one need?  I mean – I realize that babies grow fast and are forever changing.  But that’s day to day – week to week.  I just don't find it necessary for me to hang onto 27 photos that were obviously taken during the same 12 minutes.

For the most part I enjoyed being in the spotlight.  The camera became my friend and I embraced it.  Perhaps I hogged in the glory as I do believe there may be more pictures of me than my other three sibs put together.  I know for a fact that there are many more pictures of each of us than of Patrick.  If it weren’t for school pictures, we'd have even less.

As a child, Patrick hated getting his picture taken.  Or maybe my parents just got bored with photographing their baby on a daily basis.  It is uncanny how many of his older photos look just like Kayla’s two children.  It is also weird to see how major blond we both were.  I don’t even remember Patrick ever being blonde.  But we have evidence.

The photos are not being scanned in any certain order.  I will sort it in the computer – except for the ones I don’t scan – and there have been lots.  And with the mother lode of baby photos I just retrieved of myself – I certainly don’t want to scan all of those.

Corey said he wanted the originals, but I ended up with seven piles – three which I’d be giving to him.  Anything related to Kayla in one pile, anything to do with Patrick and his family in one pile, anything to do with me or my family, every other photo went into a box (for Corey) after I scanned it.  

 And then there was the pile of either scenes or unfamiliar faces that I didn’t scan that went into an envelope marked “Not Scanned” and the final pile went into the garbage initially – but Corey said he wanted ALL of them.  Oh, right.  We’ll just see about that.

Mom was horrible at marking photos.  HORRIBLE.   She doesn’t remember things.  How could she possibly identify the people in the photos now?  I did manage to scan some photos last night (before the power surge/scan mess up) of a group of people on the beach.  I don’t know how many total.  I chose a few of them to scan and email to a few of mom’s friends to ask if they could identify the people in the photos.

One has not only answered, but enthusiastically thanked me for the trip down memory lane.  So I now have names for Corey. I don’t know that having the names will have all that much meaning for him.  He may not want them.  If that’s the case perhaps I should send some of the originals to Erin?  I wonder if she’d even want them.

I’m not through.  I haven’t even made a dent.  It would take so much longer if I weren’t so selective.  I would have started out more selective if I had taken the time with it.  This project I’ve assigned myself is huge.  But I think it will be worth it.

Corey’s got the largest house of my mom’s four children.  He has no clue what he’ll be doing with everything he took back – or is taking back rather.  He’s still on the road right now.  Still in Utah, I’m sure.  And may be for some time.  He still has to drive through that icy canyon.  The department of transportation said they haven’t seen this kind of weather for over 30 years.  I don’t recall ever having seen it – not in Utah anyway.

Well, those are today’s thoughts.  I will be going through pictures and labeling the backs of them and sorting them into what will be scanned and what won’t.

I’ve also come across an attempted biography I had done on my very first word processor.  A "Brothers" that I truly loved.  The printer was less than desirable.  It seems almost humorous to look at the print right now. 

Perhaps I will challenge myself and typing skills and type it into Word.  I saved it upon floppy disc initially.  But I don’t have access to a Brother’s Word Processor so that I may open it.  Well if I still had one.  I find that floppy discs haven’t worked out all that well for me.  I had saved many throughout the years.  I threw them all out just a couple of years ago.

More to come.  May not be soon, however. It is kind of fun going down memory lane. But some things that were saved have turned out quite pathetic from my point of view.  My 50 year old point of view as opposed to my naïve twenties.  Boy, was I clueless growing up.