I’m clearing out the cottage. The place where Mama spent her final seven years, the place that once was my studio. I’m getting ready to rent it out.

At this point it’s not the big stuff, it’s the things in the drawers and closets. The things on the shelves.

The things I’ve been avoiding dealing with.

Mama’s things. And mine.

Yesterday I filled my car with books. Art books I haven’t looked at in years.

Books I once thought I could never part with but now I realize I’ve grown beyond. Way beyond.

I don’t need them anymore but others will find them useful, will be as excited as I once was to open them up and learn new techniques. So I took them to the thrift store, the one that provides medical care for the animals in the local shelter.

It was a good place for my books to go.

A few days earlier I took another carload of stuff…mugs, kitchen things, linens… this and that’s that were once the everyday of Mama’s life… I took all of that to the Hospice thrift store.

Because we owe so much to Hospice.

Today I walked into the cottage, looked around and thought Holy crap, there’s still a lot of STUFF here!

The stuff I never wanted to deal with. Like shoebox  (size 8) stuffed to the rim with notes and cards from when Daddy died. 

Cards

I looked through them, reading each and every one and wondered if Mama did that from time to time, before her vision failed her. I read them, notes from people I haven’t seen in years and years. Notes from people I never knew.

I set one letter aside, the rest–box and all–went into the recycle bin.

Because it’s time to move on.

I loaded up my car with more things. And then I went up to the new! improved! Studio Grande. Cranked up the music. And painted.

painting

Because I can’t think of a better way to remind myself that life goes on.