In a few weeks my parents will say good-bye to the antique red house surrounded by woods and fields that has meant “home” to our family for nearly forty-five years. At eighty and seventy-nine, my folks could have chosen assisted living or even a simple condo for this next chapter of their lives. Instead, in good health and always game for a project, they’ve built themselves a small, fully accessible cottage on a pond just eight minutes from where my husband and I live now. Still, this move calls for a major downsizing. And as anyone who’s helped an elderly parent move knows all too well, letting go can be tricky emotional territory, for both generations.
Our old family homestead is a charming Cape built in 1765, with many original details intact but enhanced by a spacious later addition, designed by my parents and complete with a porch, master suite, spa, and a generous living room. Filled with the antiques and special pieces my mom collected over the decades, each nook and cranny of the house is cozy and welcoming and uniquely beautiful. My mother’s special touch is in evidence at every turn – a collection of birds’ nests displayed on an old glass table, a row of white ironstone pitchers on the mantle, a small, antique oil painting propped amongst the gardening books, a wicker chair in a sunny corner.
The new, small cottage has a different feel altogether – spare and clean and open, with white walls and simple, modern lines. A few of my parents’ favorite things are making the move with them. Most of their furnishings and possessions, however, either won’t fit or just don’t “go” in their new, downsized quarters.
Months ago, at my parents’ request, my brother and I did a walk-through of our childhood home, looking for things we might want for our own houses, taking measurements and promising my parents we’d get back to them with our lists. I don’t know about my brother and his wife, but Steve and I found it hard to return to our own fully furnished house and see places where a mahogany table or an old pine bookcase might fit. I stuck my list of “possibles” in a file folder and let it sit there.
Now, though, the time of reckoning has arrived. On Sunday Steve and I spent the morning helping my dad do one last spring clean-up in the yard. My mom, who’s been busy packing boxes for days, was eager for me to start relieving her of the some of the things I’d told her I might want. She handed me an empty box and suggested I begin filling it. “Whatever you kids don’t take,” she warned, “will become part of the estate sale.”
Last week there was an article making the rounds on Facebook titled “Memo to Parents: Your Adult Kids Don’t Want Your Stuff.” It did strike a chord. As it happens, I find myself stuck right in the middle of this dilemma – already hopefully stashing kids’ toys, old dishes and flatware, and a perfectly good kitchen table in a rented storage space for our own young adult children, just as my parents are hoping we will step up now and relieve them of some of their furnishings.
Of course, in the big-picture view of things this is not a terrible problem to have. My parents are of sound mind and body. They are not going against their will into a nursing home but joyfully (though not without some tears and hard moments) into a small, new home that suits their needs now. They can decide for themselves what to bring and what to leave behind.
And then there’s this: I adore my mom’s taste. As a little girl, I loved our Sunday mornings spent in search of treasures at the flea market, our leisurely road trips to New England antiques stores, the long summer days we’d spend together at country auctions and estate sales, eating donuts and waiting for a particular rocking chair or serving platter to be held aloft. My mother’s aesthetic shaped mine. Or perhaps we developed a certain style together, by virtue of all those enjoyable hours spent looking and pondering and choosing. She always was my best friend and we’ve almost always seen eye to eye.
Growing up, I watched our quirky old house take shape over time, piece by carefully chosen piece. I saw how every faded rug or wooden shingle or china bird figurine my mother added brought character and charm to a room. In high school the first piece of furniture I bought with my own money was an antique birds-eye maple dresser I spotted for sale outside someone’s garage. I knew my mom would think it was as beautiful as I did. It’s the dresser that sits in my bedroom now, nearly forty years later. Little wonder then that these days, as I help her shop for a rug for her new living room and pick fabric for the window seat, we are still drawn immediately to the same things. “Yes,” we say in unison. “This is perfect.”
And so the hard part here is not that I don’t want my mom’s stuff. It’s that I have a house that’s already full — full of things that are just like hers. Still. I’m looking around again. The rug my grandmother hooked by hand will look lovely in the guest room. There’s a place for the bookcase after all. The small gold- framed mirror will go somewhere. I’m making room.
In the meantime, knowing I don’t have space for very many of the beautiful things my mom has collected over the years, I’m thinking instead of the gifts she’s given me that take up no room whatsoever – the lessons she’s taught me by example that have shaped me into the person I became. Here, the ten that come immediately to mind:
Ten Lessons I Learned from My Mom
How to have faith in my kids — even when they don’t have faith in themselves.
How to pick my battles – and how to let go of the small stuff.
How to listen well — even when I’d rather be talking.
How to find joy in simple things and to see beauty in the details.
How to put family first.
How to make a house a home.
How to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for 35 people and make it look easy. (I have yet to road-test this one.)
How to make everyone who walks through the door feel welcome.
How to forgive.
How to grow old with grace and good humor.
Mother’s Day is around the corner. If you’re lucky enough to still have your mother, or if there’s a woman in your life who has ever offered you a kind maternal hand, let her know how grateful you are. Mother’s Day is the perfect time to forgive your mom for being flawed and to celebrate her for being human. We may have trouble putting our love and our gratitude into words, but actions speak for themselves. (So, my friends, do something nice!)
Back by popular demand: Once again this year, in honor of Mother’s Day, I’m offering personalized, signed, gift-wrapped copies of all of my books at special discounted rates. Details below.
And finally this: I’ve always wanted to write about my sixteenth summer, when my parents grounded me. Finally, I did. It’s online here and also on news stands now in the May issue of Family Circle magazine. (I just love that Family Circle was willing to publish such a story. Be sure to check out my racy summer of ’75 reading list, too. What were YOU reading at 16??)
books!
signed, sealed, delivered, they’re yours
–- in time for mother’s day
Want to order a signed book (or several) for the special moms in your life? It’s easy. Here’s how:
1. Click here.
(Note: This link will brings you to my own landing page on my husband’s website, Earth, Sky & Water. Steve sells beautiful posters, note cards, and laminated nature identification guides. And because his business is already all set up to take online orders and fulfill them quickly, he’s kindly offered to handle this special sale for me. While you’re there, feel free to browse his offerings, too!)
2. Want your book(s) personalized for a special person? Send me an email at klewers@tds.net. Include the book title you’ve ordered, the name for the inscription, and any special message you’d like me to write.
3. If I don’t hear from you via email, I’ll simply sign your book(s), gift-wrap them, and have them sent to the address specified.
4. For Mother’s Day only, I’m offering a special price that includes free gift-wrap by yours truly.
5. Hurry! Deadline for all orders is Friday, April 29.
Tears of joy are streaming down my checks!
Hello Katrina: My mother and I have certainly had our ups and downs. But as she ages and as I read your message, I am inspired to try to forgive her faults as I hope she will mine. My parents recently downsized, too. It was difficult to accept things from their home into my own, but I did because I wanted her to be happy. And perhaps because we are more alike than I care to admit. In any case, I wish you and your parents all the best as they write their next chapter which intrinsically becomes part of yours in the process.
Thanks Katrina
I always look forward to your posts, when I see your email pop up in my in box! Always an enjoyable, thoughtful and meaningful story.
When I read anything you write, books or posts, you seem to have this effortless way of looking at an experience and pulling out the essentials, the take aways. It is such a joy to read your writings as it is a reminder to me to slow down. It’s too often I find myself getting caught up in the busyness of life: hurrying my three children through the grocery store today instead of paying attention to what they wanted to share with me (they each brought in a library book), rushing from work to picking up children from the sitter, kindergarten and rushing home to get the 3 year old to nap before we have to go and pick up the 2nd grader when she gets out later, trying to manage dinner and the puppy and laundry…the list continues. When I actually slow down and listen to my children those are the times when I feel the most at peace, calm and most importantly, connected. The dishes can wait, dinner and bedtime can be a little later, even on a school night. I know the time will pass quickly (it already has). I do my best to stop and ask, “will this matter in ten years?” Most of the time the answer is no and I can let go and be in the moment with the most important people in my life. But I definitely struggle with this on a daily basis. (Does it get easier?) Katrina, your words ALWAYS remind me of this and I appreciate and value you in my life, the way you have touched me over the years with your words and your sharing of your experiences. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I will tell my husband how much I would love an autographed book!
I loved reading your memories of visiting flea/antique markets with your mom. And perhaps what I loved most of all is realizing that, just like your mom, you have your own collection of birds nests. I’m glad you’re making space for a few special items. xo
For YEARS I’ve been honored to purchase these gorgeous notecards sold at my neighborhood Farmer’s Exchange. I use them constantly & frequently include a package with a gift. Only now, linking to your book sale, did I realize they’re done by your husband. I’m old enough to no longer be surprised by synchronicity….but still…
Thank you for your beautiful writings. They are always so timely.As this magnificent Spring begins, I am thinking of my own mother. When I read the lines in your article about your mother and you having the same taste and her being your best friend, I lost it. My mother passed away six years ago this year. I have few of her valuables to speak of. My brother sold most of the family things off in a sale to raise money for her when my dad died. She needed much of it in order to afford her nursing care. We had one day to fly to Florida and go through the whole house. The task was daunting and extremely emotional. I have her piano,
a small cabinet and a tablecloth she crocheted when she was pregnant with me. I also inherited her life in pictures. Tons of family photos keep the memories alive. She was the reason I became an art teacher. I loved her sense of style, her art of decorating and fashion. She looked like a movie star to me. I miss her everyday in everything I do. Her name magically pops
up on my home telephone everytime my brother calls. We don’t know why, but every time I see it, I like to to think she
is thinking of me. It’s her way of saying
I love you.
Well, first of all, thank you for your generous offer! That’s simply lovely.
I think you and I share the same sense of “momness” — like you, my mom’s style and mine were/are similar. When she died in 1977, I was just in my 20s and with no place for a lot of things. My dad kept what he could until he died. And now, I have the whatever was left and it is a lot! It doesn’t all fit here but I have a hard time letting it go. Definitely not “House Beautiful” — more like “House “Could Be Beautiful But…”
I’m going through the purging period. At the ripe old age of only 64, I want to be sure that things are in order. It’s a tough haul — the old clothes are easy. The other things I chose or they mean something to me. Not easy at all. So, I feel that stress — the emotion, the practicality, all those thoughts.
You are right about the gifts. Shortly before Dad died he said, “I’m sorry I don’t have anything much to leave you.” (A year’s worth of medical bills didn’t leave much in the kitty.) I told him that he had long ago given me all the gifts I could ever want and need — and more. They are much like the ones you received from your mother and they are the best gifts of all.
Loved reading this and all of the comments. I am right in the middle of all of it too, and it is reassuring to hear that I am not alone in my thoughts and emotions of how life is being lived by me. Thank you for your transparent and genuine honesty.