For the past decade, I've helped my husband's parents with all manner of things. I'm a great daughter-in-law, if I may say so, and love my married-into family. I think with my parents already gone, I have a bit more emotional space than folks who still have their parents, so it's a win-win for everyone involved.
My husband's mother, an avid collector, has amassed a layered and rich collection of objects, all displayed in lovely ways. She has been super creative her entire life, mostly in the domestic arts, and her work has brought the family much joy. Every holiday involved a dinner with spectacular centerpieces. We're talking Easter, 4th of July, St. Patty's Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day, Halloween, Robert Burns supper, and everyone's birthday, celebrations of promotions, dinners to nurse those not feeling well, and more -- I'm sure I'm missing something.
Over her lifetime, she taught classes in teddy bear making, how to do general embroidery, and also Shisha embroidery. Much of her work is now with many of us; my husband has three brothers. She is still with us, though not living in the home I'm describing - it's round the clock care time. It's hard to grasp that she is not the ruler of her little castle any longer, but time stops for no woman.
But back to this topic of cleaning, and Mom's vast collection. Where to begin? She collected teddy bears, many of them vintage Steiff, and by "collect" I mean hundreds. Some bears are so small they fit in your palm. There's also miniature furniture, to go in the beautiful doll houses. Sets and sets of china and glasses, and embroidery supplies -- so much thread you can't imagine, coupled with so many scissors. As a calligraphy artist, she had pens galore in a rainbow of colors, all stored in English crocks. The teddy bears have complete wardrobes, including glasses and passports and tiny notebooks and cutlery of their own, with table cloths and luggage it all fits into. There are chocolate molds, and handmade decor for every holiday, and Pendleton blankets in so many patterns, and a miniature pen collection, and Limoges boxes, and garden rabbits that hold succulents, and a dozen military macaws hanging along the backyard fence keeping watch. There are dainty handkerchiefs and lace doilies, carefully stored with tissue. There are scores of cookbooks and herb books and art books. She loves Brighton handbags and Indian jewelry. She loves Laura Ashley and Mary Engelbreit and Martha Stewart and McKenzie-Childs. She always had an ikebana arrangement on display when you came in the front door, and she took classes at the Athenaem to get even better at it; though she was a natural in floral arrangement. She and her husband held years and years of mystery dinner theaters with a small group of friends, who all traveled to London for more mystery dinnering, with some of the group still faithful friends to this day. What a rich life. What a beautiful life, full of all the things she loved. Oh, and Dad collects fountain pens. If you're getting a picture of a packed house, albeit a beautifully arranged one, you are getting the right idea.
For the last many years, during our daily call to Mom we'd ask what's going on?, and the answer among other things was: "oh, clearing things out. Sorting things. Getting rid of things." From where I sit today, in the midst of these collections and trying to figure destinations for everything, it's obvious that maybe things were moved from here to there, but out the door they did not go!
So recently, the topic of Swedish Death Cleaning has emerged, and I am fascinated by it along with all things minimalism, which for me includes Marie Kondo and The Minimalists and Live Planted and The Mustards and many others trying to live with less clutter and less work, so they can have more time, more experiences, and more life. "Things" own us they say, and they do, because they require us to manage them, sort them, pay rent on them, keep them clean and organized -- all things that cost us something whether time or money or mind space.
At this point in my life, I'm not a good, or even okay, minimalism example, though my goal is to whittle it down to the essentials. May each essential be the most beautiful essential, but by god let there be few of them. Without children, who will have to deal with this if I leave a mess behind? One of my nieces? Our only nephew? My husband, if I go first? A friend? I don't want that for anyone.
I just ordered The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning for a friend and me; we talk almost daily and lately our chatter has been on this topic, and it's pertinent because I am in the throes of cleaning out said collection above. It's been real motivation to not leave my "collection" to anyone. For one reason, it's draining work, full of memories that you can't help but relive. I feel like each item deserves its honoring, as its fate is determined.
So to all those with hoards, maybe get this book, too, and do your döstädning before someone else has to do it for you.
