Deconstructing
Since I wasn’t working today, I drove up to Pasadena to help my family clean out my grandparent’s house. They had started clearing it out a few days ago.
I spent a good part of the day going through old clothes, books, pictures, knick knacks. Stuffing things into bags meant for trash or for the Salvation Army or for the estate sale or a small little white box I grabbed that sat at the foot of my grandmother’s chair, piling up my own little treasures I’d take home with me.
We tossed out my grandfather’s old blue and white striped shorts, the ones I remember seeing him in nearly every day. My grandmother’s old robe. Old Ferragamo shoes she probably scooped up at yard sales to be put into boxes and sold. All her old blazers with pockets stuffed to the brim with tissues. She loved her tissues. They were everywhere.
My mom and Uncle Frank found old bottles of wine and whiskey out in the garage. My grandfather would go out to do some work at night and get away from his constant companion (believe me, she was a handful) and I can picture him tossing back a few while going over folders from work. He loved working. He loved being around people, talking and telling his tales.
He saved gorgeous blue tins meant for chewing tobacco that he’d put his nails in. There were about ten lined up in the garage so vintage-y looking now. I took two and I don’t know yet what I’ll put in them.
He built their porch. We were looking through old photos the other night and there is this picture of him, this young, handsome Italian man laying bricks down outside where there is now a porch with a roof and a swing and wooden beams. I just looked at it today. I always took it for granted that it was just there. But he built it with his own hands.
He once built me a playhouse. For the back of my yard that was big enough to seem like a real house to a little me. I’d play with my dolls in there. My own girly treehouse that wasn’t in a tree. As I grew up, I went in there less and less frequently and after a while it was overtaken by ivy. We used to bury our pets near that little house.
My mom and my uncle found a bible today so old it was literally falling apart. Bending and breaking at the seam until it finally ripped right in two, so dusty. Old pressed flowers, comment cards from the nuns at their catholic school, small notes – all these things tucked inside. They laughed together at memories of their school days and it made me smile as I watched them.
I took home pictures that hung on the wall that I remember from forever ago. I probably won’t put them up right now. There will be more to collect and I’ll have small boxes of my memories at that house that I will keep with me as I move around in life.
I was just laying in bed right now, tears slipping down. I called my mom and said “It just hit me what we did today.”
She said she understood and that just a few days ago she couldn’t bring herself to go into their closets where their clothes still hung.
“I call it deconstructing,” she told me.
Deconstructing lives.
That house has been the same since I was born into this world. And for many, many years before that even. Taking it apart, breaking it down, today was hard.
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could you link your diary to mine? I think my friends would be interested in your viewpoint.
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Feel better soon!
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ryn: spoken like a woman whose boyfriend just moved to town. =P
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A day in bed and time for you is good. Don’t overwork your emotions.
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sounds like a hard day. all involved seem to be doing a very good job of mourning when it’s healthy to do so.
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i am not looking forward to doing much of the same thing when my grandfather eventually moves. i can’t even say “dies” because, well, i hate even the idea of it. he’ll move. & we’ll clean. good luck to you, day.
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I can only imagine the difficulties. In my great-grandma’s Bible I found a letter that my mom had written at age 8, talking about what she was thankful for at Thanksgiving, and it was the sweetest thing. Even if it’s sad, sometimes it’s comforting to go through those kind of things.
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this makes my heart hurt a little.
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Tears are better than Prozac. Its natural to cry. Nothing wrong with it.
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Hang in there.
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Good for you for stuffing things in your bag, every morning I see a brass tortoise with a box space under its shell in the kitchen where I keep the garden door keys (oh, rob me see if I care) and I know and see and smell exactly where it used to sit on the hearth by my grandmother’s fire place for catching spent matches. And it’s a nice thing. It’s the little things that glue the memories together
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RYN: No they’re not, Snotty Girl, it’s just load of flitty waffle as usual.
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RYN: ****wood. You missed one of the -woods. It’s that one by the university. 🙂
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I’m hoping there is someting special there that you can take and pass on to your daughter someday. I’m so hurt my mother and other relatives threw out everything of my grandmother’s without ever telling me. There were things she told me since I was a little girl I shoudl have. They even threw out her old wedding bands because they were only 10K gold. luckily I fetched an old album of pictures
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from the 20s out of the garbage. I’ll show it to you when you come here.
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RYN: Forthcoming with cities. Hmm.. Good question. I dunno. It got to be a habit, actually. Also, ****wood is actually very small compared to Van Nuys. I’m glad you got a glimpse of your grandpa’s life. I’m writing a novel about mine and I know more about him now than I think many of my relatives combined…
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Snotty Girl it is then! You only have yourself to blame. Actually I’ll tell you what’s wrong – I’ve just got in, I’m flicking through what I deemed very important TV that I recorded on video while at work and I’m about to watch ‘Pride of Britain’, a hideous annual awards ceremony for people who’ve done ‘good’ stuff in life in the last year. It’s opening with a shocking tear jerker of a child and
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I defninitely don’t want my next visit to my home to be THAT visit. I need to make some time to get back there and see my grandparents. Thanks.
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I’m clearly going to sit through this with a box of tissues for the next two hours because I know it’ll make me cry. I do this every year. (by the way I have it on firm authority that skinny heels are out this spring, wedgies and flats are all the rage, collapsed arches, corns and bunions will swoon at the thought).
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r: My infantile mind seems to hold a memory of SOMEONE (not the OD “someone”) telling a chilly goofball that she would love to go with him and maybe jump…but that was many moons ago, and I may have embellished that a bit. Regardless, you and Eric will have to come watch when we visit. I’ll bet you could get some wonderful pictures.
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Sounds like a hard yet rewarding day. Stay away from Prozac, & don’t be sad. It sounds like it was a great life & you should be celebrating that. By the way, I’m new, & is that pic on your diary cover you? Thought it was Neve Campbell (where has she been?). I miss Party of Five. ryn: glad you like to read my inane stuff. Dead crabs are funny, just cause he keeps ’em. Great entry btw. C ya!
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r: Actually, I think you told Mike (Cool Dork) you wanted to go when he went, but I might be mistaken. Right now, we aren’t sure when, but it should be this year, as my grandparents are ailing and I want to visit them while there’s still time. I’ll keep you informed and let you know when we’ll be there. We’ll be staying in (GASP) Riiiiiverrrrrrrsiiiiiide. 😉
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My sympathies go out to you. It’s definitely hard. My grandmother spent her last six months living with our family. We were grateful for having that time with her. BTW, I am glad that you and Eric got together ( I know I am late on this, but I lurk alot). I have been reading you all separately for years now, and it seems almost fated 🙂
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its so hard…….so hard. been there and did that in 88 and it still haunts my dreams dear. still. after all these years.
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My sisters and I went to Camarillo a little over three years ago, exactly, and found ourselves in just this situation. A person doesn’t give advice nor take it, in something as now, but either say “I understand” or quietly contemplate the day in which you will. Take care…
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i don’t know if this is inappropriate or not but… just remember why you were deconstructing, and that it’s what she wants. it’s what she wants.
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Such a loving tribute to your grandparents. Your mother is lucky to have a daughter like you who appreciates those who came before her. Hope you feel better soon.
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Thank you so much for these wonderful images of love.
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I can relate to this. Going through everything, taking in a lifetime of objects. Seeing someone you love through their things. Did you take any pictures? ryn: You need to see My Life Without Me. I think you would appreciate it. It even has your boy Scott Speedman in it. Just make sure you see it alone, because you’ll want privacy.
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In Touch magazine? Are you talking about the religious magazine put out by Charles Stanley ministries?
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Part of the process….you nailed it.
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heartwrenching, Day. I think I’ll call my grandparents today…I don’t even want to imagine how that’s going to feel when it’s my time to do it. What a true testiment of time moving on.
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I remember the evening all us kids were supposed to clean out my mother’s apartment after she died. I couldn’t do it. Left it all up to my brother and 2 sisters.
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