Letters from the Past

Letters, negatives, and other paraphernalia.

Mom left behind a lot of "things" to go through. I don't like her stealthy way of hiding recipes (which all can found found online save a few), coupons (some dated to 2005 or earlier), and newspaper clippings. Other items, like the box filled with letters that her parents wrote the month before mom was born in 1934, are well worth discovering.

I went through this box of letters a few nights ago. Being an historian, I recognized the value of these letters. They're not just love letters filled with endearments...they're artifacts that give a glimpse into what life was like in Virginia in August, 1934.

At that time, my grandmother, Elizabeth, was living in Roanoke. Her husband of barely nine months, Leo, was stationed as a National Guard recruit in Virginia Beach. It was four years into the Great Depression, and my grandparents note the cost of several items. They also talk about borrowing $3.00 like it was a burden and a sin. And, yet, they're about to have their first child together.

I think these letters might make for yet another book...

Overcoming Another Major Organization Hurdle

My desk this morning and then...this afternoon.

By the end of November, I should have this house in fairly decent shape. I need to be more organized, because I'm juggling several balls right now -- my Etsy shop, Amazon book sales, an upcoming writing workshop, clients, and -- the main purpose behind all this activity -- my memoir.

It made perfect sense for me to tackle my desk today in light of the deadline I set for myself with clients and the book. In the photos above, you can see a cluttered desk filled with items that I needed to list on Amazon and other items I need to photograph for sale on my Etsy shop (links to both venues are listed in the right column). All those items now are in their proper places, mostly. I did make it through the books today, and they're all out the door, listed on Amazon, or on my bookcase in the bedroom. I'm limiting myself to one bookcase for books I want to keep.

The other items are sitting on the folding table behind me as I sit at my desk. My next task is to photograph those pieces, then list them on Etsy and put them away in a nice, neat box until they're sold.

I don't know if I would have found the motivation to become more organized without Caregiving.com's 30-Day Organization Challenge. I don't like to fail at anything, and making a commitment to this challenge was one of the best things I could have done for my family and for myself. I have been battling depression for the past two years since before mom's diagnosis, and my struggle seems to be worse lately. I think it's because I don't have to focus on mom's caregiving anymore, so the focus is on me and my losses. It's all part of grief and grieving. A competition to become more organized was, surprisingly, just what I needed to begin to look at my life with new perspective and with less stress.

I'm happy about seeing my desk again. I'm also happy that I've untangled the speakers and separated them for better sound since I took that second photo. During this "desk-cleaning" project I was pleased to find a bracelet I thought I had lost. Bonus!

Now, to rid myself of this paranoia. I feel like the objects lurking on that table behind me are making fun of me and just waiting for me to fail at moving forward on these tasks. Little do they know that I have them on my "organization" hit list for tomorrow.

Making Progress with the Organization Challenge

Two days ago I posted photos that I took of the spare bedroom that my husband and I are working on so he can use that space to make his hand-made baskets. Those photos, which I took on November 1st, represent the mess created by me from traveling back and forth between my parents' home and my home over the past two years -- plus dragging a lot of mom's things back with me to my home. Today, just seven days into the month, we've made tremendous progress on this room.

I'm very grateful to Caregiving.com's 30-Day Organization Challenge, because I don't believe we would have made this progress without a challenge. Take a look:

The first image of the corner near the closet -- everything is gone! I won't tell you what my office and our bedroom look like, though...

I couldn't back up far enough to take a photo of this corner of the room -- now that corner holds my husband's desk, computer, and basket supplies that were, initially, in our bedroom. We did a little switching around here.

As you can see from the photos above, we moved a lot of things out of the spare bedroom. But, a lot of my husband's things were in our bedroom, so we simply switched the portable closet for the desk, and his bookshelf with basket supplies for my bookshelf that still has a lot of junk on it.

This shot shows a LOT of things moved. I still have the rest of the month to go through all the boxes.

I'm very proud of the images above -- even though I haven't gone through all the boxes yet, I was able to organize the bags and loose items into separate piles to make my task easier.

Uh-oh...I have "stuff" on the top of the bookshelf. I'll move those items this evening.

All my husband needs to do to get started making baskets again is a table. We've got one -- he just needs to bring it up from the basement. And -- ta-da! This part of the task is done, all in just one week.

30-Day Organization Challenge, or How I'm Dealing with "Stuff"

One corner of the room -- and this was after I had already moved some boxes.

Caregiving.com started a 30-Day Organization Challenge for members on November 1. Denise is providing daily prompts for folks who want to follow along and spend 15 minutes per day organizing a purse, a mud room, bills and receipts (which would take me three months alone!), or under the kitchen sink. Members also have a choice to pick another project to organize. Since I knew I'd spend more than 15 minutes per day on most of the prompts, I decided instead to tackle one large project.

I couldn't move far enough into the room to capture the entire mess in one corner.

Since we're trying to work together on projects, I approached my husband about this organization challenge. He makes beautiful hand-made baskets and he could bring in income with these baskets if he had a larger space to work with. For the past two years he was stuffed into a corner of our bedroom, with no room to work at all.

The chifferobe? It's for sale (local only)!

I suggested that we clean out the 'spare' bedroom that isn't a bedroom at all. As you can see from the photos, this room is a catch-all for my clothes as well as for my mother's things that I'm salvaging from my parents' home. The room was, on day one, so dysfunctional that I couldn't find clothes to wear. For the past five days now -- every day this month -- my husband and I have spent approximately 15 minutes per day moving things back and forth between our bedroom and that spare bedroom. You wouldn't believe the difference already!

The books are mine -- but most of them will go up for sale on Amazon. That's just one bookshelf out of ten in this house. A little bit of a nutty obsession -- each book I own has a story behind it.  The clothes? They belonged to mom. What the heck am I doing with them? I'll figure it out...

This project could have been a daunting task, but with my husband's help it's coming together quickly. At this point we're just moving things back and forth, though. The task of going through all the boxes and organizing things is going to take the rest of the month, I'm sure.

I'll post "after" photos when we're done. Then we can tackle the living room, which is almost 1/4 filled with more boxes from the folks' house. Oy.

Taking my Gratitude to the Next Level

I'm grateful that mom left a story for me to tell.

I mentioned in a previous post that I began to share a gratitude list every morning on my private Facebook page. I started this practice about three months before mom died. In the beginning, I felt very self-conscious about expressing appreciation for what I had, although now that self-consciousness seems ludicrous.

I was late posting my gratitude a few days. Some days I was up before the rooster crowed, pondering how I could turn things around in my head to show that I was looking at a brighter side. Believe me, some days I really worked hard at this list. I skipped the list for at least five separate days, because I just couldn't shake my funk enough to see the light.

I don't know why I stuck to five items daily. Perhaps that fifth (or fourth, or even third) item on the list really takes some genuine reflection and change of attitude on my part. By the time I'm through with each morning's list, I often gain a tremendous amount of insight into my feelings and motives.

A few of my friends are in the habit of offering up a gratitude list on a daily basis. What I love about these lists is that I get to know that friend just a little bit better because of what she (yes -- usually a she) is going through. A number of friends, even those who don't post a gratitude list, have approached me to tell me how much my lists mean to them. Mostly, they can relate to a lot of things I went through during my time as a caregiver to mom.

I continue to post those lists on a daily basis, and the focus now is more on the aftermath. I can't seem to get my head wrapped around the lists these days, and I think I've reached a threshold. I think I know the cause behind my lackadaisical attitude...I've become less grateful. The habit is now just a habit, and I need to challenge my perspective. As a result, I want to take my list to a new level.

Starting tomorrow, I'll be posting my daily gratitude lists to my Cancer, Caregiving, and Contentious Love public Facebook page. I think this is the right thing to do, because I'm feeling very self-conscious about the move. I realize that many new readers may not know my entire story, and that's another prompt for me to become more aware of my motives and my explanations.

Maybe, after a few weeks, I'll begin to see my new self-consciousness as ludicrous. And, I hope that my habit will help someone else. I would be most grateful if you'd let me know.

Yes, I'm the Cemetery Snob

Saints arising from the dead, different than the average person.

I recently learned that I'm a bit of a cemetery snob. I've researched the subject for years, wrote about it, and studied burial methods and what the professors called "outdoor museums," or cemeteries, in my master's studies. So, I know about Christian burials and the tradition of placing the head to the west and the feet to the east in many cemeteries. Not all cemeteries, mind you, follow this tradition. But, my paternal great-grandfather purchased twelve plots in a cemetery that does follow this tradition.

Burying a body to face east is a long-standing tradition that goes back centuries. In Christian belief, this body orientation is never directly referenced in the Bible. But, ancient tradition dies hard, so some scripture was used to validate the continuation of this body orientation, including Matthew 24:27:

For as lightning that comes from the east is visible even in the west, so with be the coming of the Son of Man.

Another reference is found in Ezekiel 43:1

Then the man brought me to the eastward facing the gate, and I saw the Glory of God coming.

And, yet another reference in Luke 1: 78, 79:

...because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death...

Enough for references. You get the picture -- by being buried facing east, a body could be easily resurrected facing the Son of God. Simple, I thought, and very convenient for fast and easy resurrection. But, I learned that many Christians today aren't aware of this tradition. They aren't even aware that many churches were built so that congregations were facing east to meet the Son of God should he arrive on a Sunday morning between, say, 10:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. Or, on a Wednesday night. Or, during choir practice.

So, therefore, I am a bit of a cemetery snob. But, I have learned that the funeral home that oversees this particular cemetery where my mother will be buried knows about this tradition. And public works, which oversees cemetery maintenance, also knows about this tradition. I assumed I could trust them, then, in placing stones in the correct positions.

So why did I sense something was awry when I visited that cemetery earlier this year after my mother's death? Dad and I had traveled to talk to the funeral home about the plots, since dad was entitled to two of those plots -- one for him and one for his wife -- as a direct descendant. There were plenty of plots left, but mom and dad decided to be cremated and share one plot. This cemetery allows that practice (not all cemeteries do).

By the time I had figured out the problem, the owner of the funeral home was in attendance, as well as one of the funeral directors, and the head of public works. We all realized that the headstones in our family plots were being placed at the feet of the graves. If I go into details here, I won't have anything left for this chapter in my book. Let's just say the situation was rectified the following day. Since no bodies had to be moved, all was well (the mystery deepens, no?).

Today, my father and I traveled to that cemetery again to view my mother's headstone for the first time. When we walked up to the plots, dad and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. My mother's headstone was in the wrong place. Fortunately, I'm a cemetery snob. I had the funeral home's phone number, and I called and talked directly to the owner. The conversation, in my opinion, was hilarious. At the end, the funeral home owner said, "One day we'll get this right." I answered, "Yes, when all the plots are filled."

Fortunately, mom is at home in her urn on the fireplace mantel. No body had to be moved. All is well for now.

About the image with this blog entry -- attribution is below. Note that the people arising from the dead in this image are saints. Saints, clergy, and other religious leaders are different than ordinary people. They, traditionally, are buried in the opposite direction of the congregation; so, when the resurrection arrives they can lead the masses that arise to face the Son of God. I don't know why, but I keep thinking about phrasing this tradition as an "organized Walking Dead." I'll probably burn for that thought.

"Plaque resurrection dead VandA M.104-1945" by Marie-Lan Nguyen - Marie-Lan Nguyen (2012). Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.5 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Plaque_resurrection_dead_VandA_M.104-1945.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Plaque_resurrection_dead_VandA_M.104-1945.jpg

Writing About Death

Last photo of mom and me, exactly one week before she died.

Before mom died, I read somewhere that it might not be a great idea to write about grief and loss when feelings about grief and loss are fresh and unrelenting. I believe I was reading Kim Addonizio's book, Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within (2009). I almost hesitated to write about my experiences with mom because of that advice.

That advice was moot anyway, as I had signed up for a memoir writing class a few months before mom's death. Ironically (and I rarely use that word), the first class was held on the evening of the day following mom's death. I forced myself to the call for this distance-learning class, knowing that if I missed the first call, I would consider myself somewhat of a chicken. I could do this.

I'm glad I did attend that class, and every class following for six weeks. The phone calls were soothing for me, as I began to share my experiences as mom's caregiver. And, I think that my participation engendered some trust among the participants, because I was honest about my feelings. Sometimes too honest.

Society has built walls around dying and grieving. I used to collect etiquette books, and each book contained certain guidelines and societal "rules" for grieving, mourning, and funerals. Those rules, or walls, can prevent us from healthy venting about caregiving, death, illness, and even about the fear of encountering those subjects with our loved ones. I know that I was willing to talk about those subjects with mom, but she wasn't ready to talk about them with me or with anyone else.

The last thing mom did before she became too sick to function was to pick out the funeral home she wanted to use, their services for her funeral, and her funeral urn. She made those choices on Wednesday, three days before her death. Dad forced her hand on the issues, and she obliged, finally. I understand her fear and reluctance in committing to this task, especially when she couldn't talk about death at all. Especially her own death. That meeting with the funeral home director was the last coherent act she conducted in her life.

I can write about her death. I can write about her death and my caregiving with a vengeance, but without malice. We need to talk about death and dying. We need to embrace that final and most assured event as much as we do the rest of our lives. We can live with gusto, and we can die with the same fearless intent. We can set examples for our friends and family. We can be vulnerable without fear when it comes to this subject.

I think Addonizio is correct about the rawness factor, that sometimes it's not a good idea to spit out feelings when they haven't been examined or critiqued. At the same time, it might be good (and it is for me) to go ahead and write about what transpired, and then sit on it for a while. That's what I'm doing. But, in going back to re-read what I wrote, I change little. I believe in truth, and I believe in common ground. Death is common ground, if nothing else.

If you could talk about death and dying with your parents, no matter your age or theirs, what would you ask them?

Endnote: The class I took was under the tutelage of Mara Eve Robbins. I highly recommend her course when she offers it. Her website is Process, Practice, Words.

Happy 80th, Mom

Today would have been mom's 80th birthday. I started out hopeful, thinking that this would be a good day for good memories. But, as the day wore on I realized that I was just kidding myself. By the end of the day -- now -- I feel as though I've been beat emotionally and physically with a heavy wet towel.

I can't find any birthday photos of mom that we might have around here. In fact, I can't even remember what we did for her 79th birthday last year, even though I know I was here. I'm just too overwhelmed to try to find my notes.

On the up side, mom lived longer than most other parents, especially those I know about who died from cholangiocarcinoma. She had a good life, for the most part. At least her photos tell me so.

Chalking this day up as a learning experience.

What I've learned about selling online, thanks to Mom

The scene at my feet this morning -- deciding between Etsy and Amazon.

When mom died, dad was anxious to clean out the house. Mom was a closet hoarder, so her house was meticulous; but, if you open a closet door or a drawer in a file cabinet -- beware! I would shudder to find a drawer that I hadn't yet tackled after her death.

Mom kept things like receipts for a carpet replacement in a house they lived in twenty years ago. Or, she would file away some fall leaves (oak) in a space between car payment receipts and recipes. She was an avid clipper -- coupons, articles, whatever -- some of her clippings made no sense. Others revealed tons of information about my mother's proclivities and dreams.

One thing mom and I had in common was our love for books. Not the same genres, but books nonetheless. Some books were gifts, and I was surprised to find the number of autographed books she collected. I must have learned from her how to handle books, too, because even her paperbacks show little to no creasing along the spine, with clean pages and very little shelf wear.

To make a long story short, I started to resell my books on Amazon a few years ago, and I managed to sustain a 100% seller rating over the years. This rating is definitely to my advantage, because I can ask for a bit more, or even an equal price, and I may sell my book before the person who has a 94% seller rating. I've learned even more lessons this go-round, as dad wants me to sell about 90% of the books that remain at their home.

1. First, if you have a beef with Amazon, don't take it up with me. Amazon sells more books all around than any other online bookseller. In fact, book sellers like Alibris also sell their books on Amazon.
2. I learned that I had to apply for a "collectible" book seller rating. In other words, if I had a first edition or first printing on my hands, I wouldn't be allowed to list that book as a collectible without Amazon's approval. Fortunately, since I already had a stellar rating, that issue was resolved quickly.
3. How do you know you have a first printing on your hands? If you're lucky, the book will list a full number line on the page where you'll also find the ISBN (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10). If you're even luckier, you'll have a book that actually states it's a first edition. Those books can make a difference between a worth of one cent and a worth of $10 or more.
4. Always use the ISBN number to find a book on Amazon to research selling point prices. If you just go by the title, you may end up with too many (wrong) listings. It can be a mess in there.
5. If the book is older than 1995 and doesn't have an ISBN or other identifying marks (like no image at Amazon), then I may choose to sell the book at my Etsy shop. I've had good luck at Etsy selling vintage books with decorative covers or with unusual topic information.
6. Buy your envelopes to mail the books in bulk, because it's cheaper. I use bubble-wrap envelopes, because the bubble wrap does protect the books. It's worth the expense, especially when the buyer notes the extra care you took and contributes to a stellar rating.

I may sound a bit clinical about this process, and that attitude is one of necessity. If I pondered every oak leaf or news clipping or book signed "with love" by the author to my mother, I'd never make it through a single day. Going through my mom's things is not pleasant, trust me. But, when I falter, I simply think of my daughter. Would I want her to go through this? No. 

So...onward.

Looking at a Plate

Fostoria Plate from Wikipedia entry on Depression Glass

"Do you remember this plate?" I asked dad this question when I cleaned out the lower drawers in the living room china cabinet. He didn't remember that plate, and neither did I. It's very similar to the plate pictured here.

There is no story with the plate, so the plate is just a plate. Mom isn't around to tell us about that plate. She can't tell us now how she obtained it, why she kept it, and particularly why she kept it in the drawers meant for special items.

I have learned enough over the past few months to recognize a Fostoria pattern, because mom seemed fond of that company's products. So I know that its resale value is moderate. But, that's all I know. Otherwise the plate means nothing to me, and I know it doesn't mean anything to dad.

I'm guilty of the same sin. I presume my daughter knows all my stories. That's quite a presumption.