The Laughing Wolf

Facing Things

The universe usually gives us many hints when it is time to do something, and those can get quite painful if we ignore them. For the last couple of years now, there is one thing I have been putting off, not wanting to do or deal with because of the finality of the actions. Yet, in the last couple of weeks, the universe has let me know in a variety of ways that it was time. It was time to face my parent’s estate.

Now, in my defense, I feel I did a reasonably good job of dealing with it at the time of Dad’s death. I had picked out the things I absolutely wanted and then invited in the family to pick and choose out of what was left. The rules were simple: no complaints, and anyone who did not play nicely did not get to play at all. I think that most of my family is above some of what I have seen in other families at times like this, and I was largely rewarded in that thought. There was one example made, and anyone else tempted towards such either thought better or were muzzled. To be honest, I did not care which.

Out of the things I kept, most made sense. Mom’s piano I kept for sentimental reasons and for a dream I had, where I had a nice house and a place for the piano. Maybe my wife, when and if, or a child, when and if, would play it. My own playing of most musical instruments tends to have people understanding why such can be banned as an instrument of war. There were other things, such as my Dad’s military citations and other things that should go directly to a son.

Then there were other things that now have me scratching my head a bit, such as Mom and Dad’s bed. It is a nice bed, antique I think, solid wood and very well made. Sturdy, like them. For some reason, I elected to keep it even though in retrospect I wonder why since I know that I will never use it. It isn’t like the sideboard or china cabinet, that I lust to have in place. The bed joins some other items about which I now puzzle.

Most of this has been sitting in storage. My job at NASA required a good bit of travel, and going through such takes time. Nor was I foolish enough to do it at the time, which is always a mistake. I knew the time would come when I would be ready to go through it. That time has come. It is time to let go, on several levels.

It is not an easy task. Not just the mental and emotional, but on a very physical level since the storage unit was not packed as I had asked it to be. The movers did a good job, but ignored most of my requests so mining operations are going to be interesting. I am not looking forward to that part of it.

Each piece I come to will have a world of emotions tied up in it. The piano is one, for in it were tied up many dreams of the future. It was to me the symbol of a warm and happy home. I played at learning the piano on it, and Mom did play it. She was a good player, though not great. It gave her comfort when she was down, and joy at any time else to play. She did not do it as much as she must have wanted to, but she did play.

Now, I say that Mom was a good player for a reason. She quit playing the piano before she died, and while she denied it Dad and I knew the real reason: our dog. Ralph the beagle was a character. An alcoholic with a taste for fine bourbon, an epileptic, and a true momma’s boy. Anywhere that mommy went, Ralph was sure to go. Ralph liked her playing, and being a good momma’s boy, he decided to sing along.

This did not have the effect he expected, or desired. It brought consternation from Mom. It brought not successfully suppressed amusement from Dad and brother, along with some joking comments that only made mommy mad. Despite this, and despite repeated pleas from Mom, Ralph continued to sing. Mom quit.

I don’t know if she ever touched the piano again while she lived, and if she did not that is a shame. She really was not bad.

The china cabinet is another. It is dark wood, well built, and has elaborate carvings and a curved glass front. It scares the hell out of me to this day. When I was quite young, one of the glass shelves in it broke and fell, and Mom immediately accused me of being responsible, though I was no where near it. Saner heads, in the form of Dad, came to my defense but Mom’s reaction was such that for years I refused to touch it, scared that to do so would get me yelled at again. The piece is an antique, but no one knows its story. It came into my parent’s life when they got married in the late 50s. They found it in the rescue missions store downtown, at the bargain price of $60.00. That was a lot in those days, but a bargain none-the-less, so they got it.

I intend to purge it of all demons and ghosts, and use it to build a new generation of good memories and heirlooms to hand down to my children. I know not when that will be, but I am determined on both fronts, the cabinet and the family. There are several things that I intend to have for that, including the sideboard that I adore. I can see the tea chest up on it now, a silver tray beside it holding the crystal decanters I have collected in my life, and a few other selected items reflecting in the wood and mirror back. One day.

There are stories like this for each and every item that awaits. From the lone plate of its type in the china to each of the major pieces. It is time to face them, cherish them, and in some cases let them go. I have already given Mom’s family a chance to get some of the items, and have now opened up to the larger family of blood and as-blood. Then, if none act, I will move to sell the things on the open market.

My hope is that some of the family will take some of the items. It would be best if some things were kept in the blood, but a part of me disagrees. It is only fair that someone else have the chance to find a treasure somewhere, to bring it into their lives and start something new and precious, just as my parents did with the china cabinet. To start a new dynasty of tradition and family heirlooms is a wonderful thing.

With that in mind, I have also looked at some other things in my life, and have decided it is time to move on. My bed is one of them.

It is a large bed, king size, but the large comes from the fact that it is handmade out of solid cherry. It was my woodworking 101 project at college, and like many of my early dreams it is not completely finished.

The bed itself is. The headboard and footboard are solid and plain, with about 20 coats of lacquer on the boards. Each component was taken from rough lumber, joined, planed, and the brought together with care. The finished pieces were sanded down, and not just roughly. I can’t think of how much 600 grit sandpaper I used, or even finer steel wool, in sanding the wood and each of the coats of lacquer.

It was originally designed not to have posts, but structural considerations required they be added. This was done in something of a hurry, and they are largely unfinished because there was brasswork to be added, and a set of cabinets/bookshelves to be put in place at the top of the headboard. Time and money prevented this in college, and in real life there were other things that needed doing first. It has been a part of my life, and a memory of my youth, for some time now. Yet, it is time to put it aside and start a new chapter in my life. So, it and its almost new mattress are going to be offered up.

As soon as it sells, I will make use of the guest bed to be my bed for now. When I marry, we will look at a new one. I do say when, rather than if, even though there are no immediate prospects on the horizon. I do, however, think it important for two newly become one to agree on a marriage bed, and that in some ways it might be best if it were new, so that neither brings old baggage to the mix.

The guest bed will be replaced with another antique, also in storage. Even thinking of its story brings a smile to my face as I type. For years, it languished up at our cabin, and people did not like to sleep upon it. The mattress was okay, but the bed itself was something else.

It was black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat, and a nasty black it was. Old shellac and such cracked like burnt skin, hiding what there was of carving and decoration. The wood itself could not be seen, and many thought that a blessing. One day, after I had gone to college, Mom got fed up with how dark the bed was, and how gloomy it helped make the room it was in, so home it came. It would be stripped and painted white.

She began stripping it, and discovered that there were lots of nooks, crannies, and even carving/patterns. Mom got old toothbrushes from neighbors to get into all the places, and gradually peeled back the layers, and saw what lay beneath.

Walnut. Glorious, vibrant, walnut with grain patterns fit for a king. A range of colour that was a sight to behold, light more than dark, and pattern work with the wood that none had truly expected. I no longer remember from where that bed came, but think it was a piece from Mom’s family long ago. Wherever it came from, whomever it came from, all I can say is thank you. That piece will be my guest bed.

It is time for change. The old Le Menu plates are soon to be gone from my shelves, lost to old age. All the other parts of my childhood and youth are slowly fading away, or flat out dying. All save a few solid foundations. Foundations for a new life, and new family traditions.

This is as it should be. It is time to set aside the life that was, to face the fact that a new life should be built, and that I am now in the role my parents found themselves in when they met and married. It is time to face the fact that they are indeed gone, and that I can no longer call and talk, and get sage advice.

Yet, that is not completely true, for they did their job. They raised me, gave me a good foundation of morals, sense, and the ways of thought. Their shades are with me still, and their spirit guides me. My path is not theirs, but when in doubt I can still turn to that spirit for guidance, even if I can’t hear their voice with my ears. I can look at the items that remain, the core items which help shore up this new life.

Those pillars remain, around which I will build a happy home, bright with joy and warm with love. Some of that light and love will come from these items, and they will reflect the joy and love created in this new home.

The rest, well, it is time to share some of that love and joy with the world. To plant seeds of such in new homes and lives. The items I sell I send out for this purpose. For that too is what each of us should do. In that way, we are all better for it.

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