I went down into my basement yesterday. I thought I might try to get some things organized. I have one large room where all of my sewing machines are.
Another room is designated for knitting, drawing, painting, stained glass, and Fimo clay. That’s where I keep all of my little charms and doodads for specialty quilts.
There’s a room with shelves along every wall, where all of my fabric is stacked. There are bins containing half-finished quilts. There are bins full of pieces of fabric that are too small to save.
There is a room where my huge quilter would reside if I had ever put it up. It shares space with all of my firefighter and EMT memorabilia.
There is a full bathroom.
While I was sorting through still unpacked boxes and bins, I started uncovering the past. There were pictures of days long ago. I found pictures of my children. I started putting them aside.
I found mountainous amounts of papers with Losers’ name on them. There was a picture of him when he was 18. I found guitar picks and golf-ball markers. I found his old football. I resisted going outside and getting a garbage can and just tossing everything that belonged to him in it. Instead, I started putting everything in a box.
I tried to imagine how I would feel if he had the only toy I ever had as a child…my panda bear. Would I want him to throw it away or would I hope that he found a way to return it to me?
The more I unpacked, the more I found. I found a huge box of his t-shirts. I had collected them to make a quilt out of them. Many of them were from Denmark. Some were from Norway. They were from all over the country and I had already cut several of them into squares.
Then, I found the bag with all of his ties and the remnants of his daddys’ ties. When he asked me to make one last quilt for him, he suggested I incorporate the rest of those ties into it.
Like I was going to make a quilt for him and that WTC to cover up with. What a selfish pig.
But, I put the ties into the box.
I found pictures of me and my three daughters at the Hard Rock Cafe. Losers’ band was playing. From the back, it was hard to tell which one of us was who. Since our faces don’t show, I thought I’d post two of the pictures. We look like a bunch of groupies.
Again, the older is the one with her arm around my shoulders. The younger is the one with her hand on her hip. The middle is behind the girl with her hand up to her cheek.
That was the moment that my oldest (a little buzzy buzzed) asked me if I knew why everybody thought my youngest daughter was so fucking beautiful. She said “because she looks just like you.”
A good time was had by all (mostly.) There was a lot of dancing, drinking and singing. When we left, Loser was pretty soused. A block up the road, I said to Loser, “there’s a DUI checkpoint up ahead.” The officer must have heard Loser loudly say “fuck ’em” because he waved me over. I wasn’t worried. I was the only person in the bar who was sober.
I threw these pictures in the box.
So, what do I do with all of his stuff? I’m sure I’ll find more and I don’t want it around me.
What do I do with all of his stuff?