Still Picking Up The Pieces

For the last few weeks, I have been sorting through the tangible personal property (to use a legal phrase) of Aunt Ginger's life. I had weeded out a lot of items ranging from knickknacks and furniture to kitchenware and linens when she moved from her apartment of almost 40 years to assisted living 18 months ago, and then downsized her belongings again when she moved from assisted living to memory care. All the same, there was a surprising number of items yet to move to our house and sort through.

Some items were easy to move to new homes. Ginger collected angels for many years and wanted friends and family to take one with them after her death. So we set them out at the gathering we held in her memory with this sign:

By the end of the evening, the last angel flew out the door.

Other items required more careful sorting. Ginger had a desk (which went to my brother per her wishes and her will, which will likely not be probated at any point), but I had to empty it out first. That proved to be fun. 50+ pencils, many of them promotional, many of them unsharpened: into the box of Goodwill items. 20+ small, blue, ancient rubber bands, all at the point of crumbling: trash. Mementos from family events: an article about my brother, my son Benjamin's high school graduation program: those will go to the individuals featured (sorry, Ben). Opened envelopes from cards sent years ago (without the cards): recycling.

And then there were the clothes.

Ginger owned lots of clothes. Lots and lots. She took excellent care of her clothes and so items often lasted for decades. But she also liked to shop for clothes. She was never a spendthrift or very extravagant, everything she owned was probably bought on sale or secondhand, but over the last few decades her wardrobe grew.

And grew.

And grew.

When I brought home the remaining clothes, the ones from the dresser and the ones from the closet, I had to use two beds in two separate bedrooms to accommodate them all. It was not unlike the scene in An Old-Fashioned Girl (one of Louisa May Alcott's books) in which Polly performs a thrifty makeover of Fan's wardrobe: Fanny brought out her "rags" and was astonished to see how many she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maude, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, "Here's another!" 

For the first few weeks, the clothes just sat in heaps and bundles. I had other matters demanding my attention and, honestly, my heart wasn't ready to deal with the clothing. But finally the disorder overcame my reluctance, and I started folding and sorting and washing (some pieces had dried food and other stains on them; I treated and washed those out, throwing away only the few that would not come clean). Garbage bags piling up on the floor of my study replaced the heaps of clothing.

We have a local community agency, Common Ground Free Store Ministries, which is exactly what it sounds like. It is a free store, free to all, open to all. It opened 12 years ago to serve our community with this mission: It's amazing how something as simple as providing clothing and household items to people in need can help open new doors in their lives. We provide a place to meet everyday needs for the people of Delaware. 

What better place to donate Ginger's clothes? And it was even more fitting because the store is located on the East side of our town (the "other" side of town) only three blocks from where Ginger (and all her siblings) grew up (as did I and my siblings until I was in high school) and where Ginger lived until she was almost 50.

This was my car back seat and trunk this morning before I left:

A half-full backseat...

...and a FULL trunk! 

(The red coat just visible in the back of the trunk was Ginger's favorite. It was a number of years old and in immaculate condition. I hope to see it again on someone else around town!)

It took me a good ten or more minutes to unload my car when I got to Common Ground. When I was through, my car looked like this:

My backseat is back again! 

And so is my trunk! 

 I spoke with one of the volunteers as I unloaded and told her the source of the clothing. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she said. "I am too," I said. "But trust me, my aunt would be thrilled to know her stuff will be going to others who can use it."

And she would have been.

And so am I.

Staring Down The Reading Year

As with so many other things, my reading took a hit in November and early December. There was a lot of travel in November, followed by Aunt Ginger's hospitalization and death in late November and early December. Add in several holiday concerts (some of which I did not make, all of which Warren played in), a flurry of attendance mediations before the schools break for winter, and just the clutter of daily life, and you'll get a sense of what it has been like around our house.

I am still picking up the pieces.

As I look back, I see that I last posted about my reading in early November. EARLY November. So, yeah, I've added some titles since then. Not as many as I had hoped, but I have broken the 200 books barrier.

And here they are:
190. Uneven Ground: Appalachia Since 1945 by Ronald Eller (I wrote about this well-written history here)
191. What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia by Elizabeth Catte (as with the Eller at #190 and the next book at #192, I wrote about Catte's work in the same post)
192. Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis  by J.D. Vance (a reread for me, as I noted in the same post linked above)
193. The Library Book by Susan Orlean (this may be the best book about libraries and their roles in communities I have ever, ever read, all threaded through with the story of the 1986 fire that destroyed a significant portion of the main branch of the LA Public Library; I rarely buy books anymore, but this one may end up on my shelves out of sheer love)
194. The Real All Americans: The Team That Changed A Game, A People, A Nation by Sally Jenkins (a history of the establishment of Carlisle Indian School, this nation's brutal treatment of tribal children, and what Jenkins would argue was one of the greatest college football teams in history: the 1912 Carlisle team that beat West Point) (thank you, Anne K. Anderson, for this recommendation)
195.  Main Street by Sinclair Lewis (a reread  of a favorite author; Lewis savaged small-town America in this one and shaped my teenage outlook on them for many years)
196. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (not only have I read this book more than two hundred times in my life, but  I bought this paperback of it in Chicago at Powell's Books  [I already own three different versions of it] solely because it was a British edition, and after reading Book #167 earlier this year, I learned the British editions are usually the original manuscript, not the "nicer" one that Alcott's publishers insist be published; yes, it is different in the language and rhythm)
197. Ohio by Stephen Markley (when I finished this novel, I set it down and said to Warren "I don't think I have ever read a more disturbing non-horror novel in my life;" that being said, Markley captures small-town Ohio in immediately recognizable ways)
198. Everyday People: The Color of Life--A Short Story Anthology edited by Jennifer Baker (a collection of short stories by writers of color; Baker looks forward to a day when "people seeks to be more inclusive and representative in their writing and reading" so that special collections are no longer necessary)
199. A River of Stars by Vanessa Hua (debut novel about a Chinese woman who comes to California to give birth and her pursuit of the American dream for her infant daughter)
200. My Old Faithful: Stories by Yang Huang (Huang weaves together the story of a Chinese family over several generations and two countries)
201. All You Can Ever Know: A Memoir by Nicole Chung (a devastatingly honest memoir about Chung's adoption as an infant by a white couple [Chung is Korean], what family means (she remains close to her adoptive parents), and her journey as an adult to reconnect with members of her birth family; Chung raises powerful questions about the impact of adopting across racial/ethnic lines on the child and whether such adoptions are appropriate)
202. Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng (unknown to me when I picked it up, this clever novel has a story theme of adoption, or non-adoption, of a failed surrogacy, and of a white couple adopting a Chinese child "abandoned" by her mother, all of it taking place in Shaker Heights, Ohio, the "most perfect" planned community ever)

With it being mid-December, I am hoping to conclude the month with at least (at least another ten or more books. I'm not working from December 24 through January 1: here's hoping!

November Finances

We are halfway through December, nearing the end of 2018, and I am just now catching up on November. The end of the month and the first half of December were packed with work, hospital visits, concerts, telephone conversations with social workers and doctors, and then the not unexpected but still seemingly sudden death of my Aunt Ginger. Small wonder that I am just now getting around to looking at the household totals for November.

The numbers ticked upwards for November. There were some external reasons for this: buying baking supplies and then preparing Thanksgiving for six among them. The former added about $45.00 to the monthly totals, the latter about $25.00. (I did not track either event separately, but added the purchases into the overall grocery bill.) We spent $204.89 on food in November and another $19.51 on household items for a grand total of $224.40. After 11 months, we are averaging $181.30 a month for groceries and household items. While this is not the $175.00 we have been aiming for, it nonetheless is satisfying.

As I predicted, our eating out expenses rose in November. While the trip to Mayo in early November did not cost that much ($44.61), PASIC in November racked up $98.00 in eating out (breakfast was included with our hotel room or the final figure would have been higher; the Dream Cymbals dinner out also helped keep that figure lower). Because of the wildly improbable way we ended the conference, we did not get to Shapiro's Delicatessen. Our final eating out costs for the month came to $156.43.

I do not know what December's numbers will look like, although I have been recording them. At mid-month, we have already spent around $161.00, so December, like November before it, will exceed the $175.00 mark. There was a major shopping a week ago in which I restocked household supplies and staples that had gotten low and there is still Christmas dinner, albeit it looks it will be small this year. I bought food for the reception we had for family and friends after Ginger's death, but did not include those expenses in my monthly totals, even though some of that food ended up back at our house.

Two more weeks to this year, and then we'll see where we ended up.
 

What Has Happened

I have been silent for weeks because family events overtook everything else. Aunt Ginger's hip gave way the Monday after Thanksgiving and she went into a hospital with the hope that surgery to pin the bones back together would result in her learning to walk with a walker and return back to the memory unit in which she has lived since the spring.

It didn't happen that way. The surgery took place and went well, according to the orthopedic surgeon. But she never was able to start the physical therapy following the surgery: too much pain, too much disorientation from the dementia. From there, it unwound day by day. She was always in pain, either mental or physical. She did not know where she was or who was with her, including me. And she was clearly sinking.

During the second holiday concert last Sunday, I took a call from a hospice doctor: Ginger had taken a turn for the worse and was dying. Maybe hours, maybe days, but she was dying. By the time we broke the stage and got to the hospital, she was gone. It had just happened: Warren and I were the ones who notified the nurses. After the nurses confirmed what was obvious, they left us alone. We sat with Ginger in the silence of the room, Warren standing close while I held her hand, still warm but cooling, and thought of how much this woman meant to me my whole life. It was a silent, peaceful goodbye.

The week has been spent dealing with Ginger's death: clearing out her room at the memory unit, finalizing the funeral details, meeting with her pastors to discuss the service, hosting a reception last night for family and friends, and then the graveside services today.

It has been an exhausting week. It has been a long week. It has been a week filled with love and sorrow and friends reaching out and family standing close.

I will be back on these pages soon enough. The clutter of the week will be cleared, Ginger's clothing will go to our local free store, things will be put back to rights, and life will go on. It always does. But for me, for now, there is a gap, a tear in the fabric of life, a missing face at the table.