Tuesday, September 20, 2005


For anyone reading this who doesn’t know, my father, who had been a widower for a number of years, died late last year, and I was named executrix of his will. In addition to doing quite a bit of paperwork, this puts me in charge of disposing of the personal property of the estate, which is a small farm, and toward that end, I’ve contracted with an auction firm to hold an estate sale. Knowing that I lack space, I spent quite a bit of time poring over what was left after my parents’ passed, looking for small things which would help me remember the good times we shared.

Shorty’s saddle will have to be auctioned away, as will most of the power tools, because I married a city boy and we don’t have a barn for such things. The 52 Ferguson tractor that I drove when I was twelve will go, as will my Dad’s 68 Peugeot. Even mom’s cookware is boxed up to be sold.

Daddy did some woodworking during his middle years, so I took one of the bowls he made on his twelve inch wood lathe. I also took some practical items from the kitchen, to augment what I already own. Mom was the secretary/treasurer at our church for more than two decades, and when she retired, they gave her some beautiful dishes, which go quite nicely with my dining room color scheme, so I got those as well. As expected, I picked up the photographs, a stack of framed prints as well as a few albums and one box of folks I don’t remember at all.

Some of the relics I took were of no value, but I wanted them nevertheless. The last check my mother wrote, which was to me, for a small sum. I don’t remember the reason for the check, but it was dated less than a month before she succumbed to the cancer that ravaged her body. Her college text books were still on the shelves, so I got her grammar book and literature books. My dad’s harmonicas and pocket knives represented different facets of his personality, so I took them as well.

In a box in a back closet, I found the formal dress my aunt made for me when I represented the Alpha Chi Honor Society at a college dance. Honestly, I can’t remember ever being that slim! From that same closet I grabbed my oil painting kit, so I could throw those horrible paintings away myself. My daughter wanted the Quiji Board. I never derived any insight from the that, so I rather doubt she will find it anything more than a curiosity. The chess set that my grandmother gave me was there, which was a keeper, of course.

It’s rather odd to think what items around here will be the “keepers” when we are gone, and our children go through this same process. I hope they want to keep copies of the books I wrote, if nothing else.

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