Awake again at three in the wee hours of the morning. Despite being drugged with Trazadone, my eyes flutter open and my mind is alert and thinking of the move. Last night I planned which pictures and photos I would put on the walls of my new bedroom. I love putting things up on walls. Unadorned walls cry out to me to cover them wherever I find them. The rest of the room will be decorated with my books. Most of them have been in boxes for nearly three years and they are eager to be touched and put upon a shelf. These are the lucky books that didn’t get left behind as I needed to downsize. Everything from Beatrix Potter to Saint-Exupery’s Little Prince will be freed from the dented boxes. I mostly collect illustrated books. A book without at least one illustration is like a blank wall to me. It leaves me wanting. So, of course, I have lots of children’s books. Many of these are favorites that I read with my son when he was young. A few are favorites of mine from my childhood. Margaret Tempest’s Little Grey Rabbit Books were a source of comfort and joy for me growing up. The Harry Potter series will get its own shelf. My son and I read each and every one out loud to each other as they were published. I have read The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up and have used it’s advice but still find myself with at least one thousand books. Many books go out of print and cannot be found years later. At least I no longer act and consider myself the keeper of all unwanted books. I was the cat lady of books; wanting to give them all a home. I had thousands upon thousands at one time. I sold some on Alibris, and at 2nd and Charles and the rest were left in two large closets as I ran out of time and my house went into foreclosure. I am a recovering book addict and now consider a book carefully before adding to my collection.
The sun has come up. Its five in the morning. Tomorrow I get the keys to the house. First thing I am bringing over is a small bookcase and a box of books.
All my memories of my father were good until my late thirties when I started to have flashbacks. First, it was just a voice saying “good daddies don’t do that”. I would feel compelled to go to the attic to unearth these ancient ghosts. I fought against believing the flashbacks because I adored my father. He was funny and we laughed together. We played badmitton compulsively and competitively with each other. My mother was a dark, bitter character in my life, but my father was goodness, light and gaiety. My father’s love was why I could withstand her hate. But, the flashbacks revealed another side to my father — a bad father. When I confronted him about the abuse, it was the bad father who replied and called me a lying slut. Never again, did I have contact with the good father. So, how do we who have had bad fathers deal with Father’s Day? Maybe you mourn for the child who was abused instead of loved? I am no longer in contact with my father and am glad for that. But, I still miss the “good father” who laughed with me and took out my splinters so gently. Anyway, I just wanted to write a post for those of us whose fathers abused us to balance all the people celebrating fathers on Father’s Day. Some of us will just be quietly celebrating that we survived our fathers with our hearts and minds intact.
This could be a photo of the new neighbors watching me arrive! They do look curious, don’t they? I’ll be moving in about two weeks. Most of my worldly possessions are packed and labeled. I, again, am struck by all the stuff I have. And, all the stuff I once had. (I have thinned the herd each time I moved.) Many of my belongings fall into the normal range on a continuum of what a human accrues over a lifetime. But, then there are the hundreds of video tapes of my son growing up (I am converting them to DVDs) and eight huge boxes of photo albums which mostly contain innumerable photos of said son. This is not normal. My son wants to buy a scanner and scan them. This sounds very mysterious to me and I wonder if I can trust the technology to preserve him properly for posterity. Nevertheless, scanning these is something that will take place in the future. Right now, I must find a place for these treasures in my new home. But, guess what? My new bedroom has one wall that is all storage! A place to store my abnormally huge collection of memorabilia. Does anyone else out there in the blogosphere suffer from memorabilia hoarding? I forgot to mention the collection of papers and drawings from school that I saved to make scrap albums out of. And the underwear. Yes, you read that right. I cut patches out of my son’s favorite underwear (one had dragons, the other dinosaurs) and saved this for the future scrapbook. As I look at these patches, it occurs to me that something may not be quite right with me. Rather than worry myself, I will just chalk it up to being a tad eccentric. And, that’s “in” now-a-days — isn’t it? By this point, you may have started to worry about my relationship with my son. But, fear not, all is well. I have been living with him for nearly a year while I got my life together after my second husband died. But, I am moving out now, grateful for the help, and happy to give him back his life. And just in case you are wondering, he knows about the underwear and loves me anyway — LOL.