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Several weeks ago my friend, Ann, gave me this book, by Ann Patchett, one of my very favorite writers. I admire not only her writing, but her purpose driven life and her ability to share her truth, even when it can cause pain, which it has. This book is a series of essays. Much of them have been precious to me. And I think when Ann Patchett titled her book "These Precious Days" I feel she was speaking directly to me.
In one of the essays she tells us that she and her husband are thinking about buying a bigger house but, instead, they carefully purge their current home of things they no longer need; like brandy snifters and manual typewriters. They gather all of these things in their basement and then invited friends and colleagues to take what they want.
I don't like clutter. When David was alive we gave away a houseful of things that we no longer needed. We had both been married for decades to spouses who were collectors of beautiful things. But for the last ten years of his life, we were able to be "us." If something came into the condo, something else had to leave. If a beautiful painting went up, another came down. We carried out newspapers and separated the trash every single day.
After David left us I've continued the process. This past Thanksgiving weekend some family members cleaned out my attic because David's children are planning a visit and I was sure he had stored some valuables from the first 70 some years of his life up there. And, neither he nor I were ever again going to make the big climb up the pull down stars in the garage.
As it turned out, there were only a handful of David's items. However, there were various things of mine and my husband Ken's, that had spent the entire 26 years I've been here, living in the attic. My children and I threw away mountains of bedding and comforters and clothes that we felt (possibly) varmints had invaded. Of what was left, my family took what they wanted - which wasn't much. When my daughter escorted me to her home in Atlanta at Christmas time, she boarded the plane wearing her dad's college letter jacket, his hat, and carried the walking stick he and I purchase in Trinidad many years ago, because it has special meaning for her family.
David's children are arriving on Friday. I have several precious things ready for them, things that they grew up with. They can either take them, discard them or leave them with me where I will keep them safe until I'm gone.
This morning I opened a large packet of things David had sent me prior to our first face-to-face encounter. We were pin pals for a year prior to meeting and this packet reminded me of how much we knew about each other prior to laying on eyes for the first time in Chicago. I have photos and letters covering his unorthodox birth and growing up, plus photos of the family he created with his wife, Audrey. We don't have much here, but what we have is precious.
Of the photos and writings I want to keep, we can make copies right there in the guest room. As I age, I don't want to forget David's life story. I feel the same way about Ken's life and those of my ever growing family.
And so, with my own days winding down to a precious few, I'm enjoying this trip down memory lane. All days are precious, but I think Ann Patchett is reminding me to keep my priorities straight.
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