Long before I was born, in a galaxy I imagine far far away, a company moved my family 480 miles to another state. The trip was paid for by her second husband's employer, in an age when employers did such things for valuable employees.
Mom was not unaccustomed to major moves. She'd already moved across state lines with 3 kids. I think she was unaccustomed to having help. I suspect taking ALL her things with her was also a novelty.
Her new husband, a brilliant engineer working in cutting edge stuff, was given a job in another state. The big national moving company assured Mom they would come assess the needs of the move, schedule the move, and (on the day scheduled) pack everything into boxes & into a truck. The movers would travel to the new location and unpack everything. She wouldn't have to do a thing.
The scheduler came, stolled through the house, made a few notes, and scheduled the move.
Moving day arrived. The truck pulled up. Movers pulled out their supplies and got to work.
They packed and packed.
They packed some more.
They kept opening doors and finding new stuff. Stuff within stuff. The movers got the truck half loaded before they realized they grossly underestimated the contents of the house.
You see, my mother is very good at taking up every niche in the house. Every inch. There was a brief time after I was born that I remember the house very well decorated. It might have been full, but you couldn't see it. It was after that critical mass happened, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
The movers had to call for extra help, extra supplies, and another truck. The movers only allotted half a truck for a house of 5 in the early 1960s. That seems highly unreasonable now, but in 1960 it was probably standard. The Mid-century modern minimalist style was in vogue.
I have no idea how many movers there were or how long it took. I'm sure Mom mentioned it. I imagine an ant colony moving the entire nest. The point is it was excessive and she revels in it, like Scarlet in drapes.
The move eventually completed. The house they moved into was larger. It was a beautiful new home in a beautiful community. I saw it several years ago. It's still really a nice area.
The move was a warning sign of what was to come. Without a 1960's Kondo or Döstädning (Swedish death cleaning) book to curb the accumulation of things things took over Mom's life, her kids' lives, and now her grandkids lives. Rockefeller and Kennedy passed on businesses to their kids. My mother passed on dreaded boxes full of newspaper clippings, screws, and rocks.
My brother and I were talking recently about Mom's transition into full on consumerism. He says he remembers Mom just buying, and buying, and buying. He remembers the mass accumulation of books. When he was little they didn't have books in the house. They went to the library. By the time I came along (4 moves and a new husband later) Mom was building walls and walls of bookshelves into a tiny 2 bedroom.
She was reading so many books from the Readers Digest collection that I remember her hiding the packages from Dad. I don't know why. He was reading the books right after she was done with them.
By that time the semi-trailer was sitting in the yard, filled with 20 years and a first family of accumulation.
I look at my own house and worry. I'm divorced and downsized. I used to revel in living out of my car in a weekend warrior sort of way, jumping between college and outdoors. Now I'm raising a kid in an environment not unlike my own childhood.
I keep telling myself this stuff isn't staying here. I'm just a layover between Mom and its final destination. The reality is some of this stuff has hopped 4 states through an uncounted number of moves.
My own emergency prepardness training pushes me to save things most people my age would never consider owning. Who needs a 50 year old juicer, a canning kettle, and jars when they live in a tiny apartment and never can?! Who needs 3 months of food? Why is there two bows and a quiver of arrows? Who needs a large and a small safe?
It's so bad I'm using my grandparents fishing tackle boxes for sewing kits. I know you're jealous.
In the last month the sacred family bread box bounced from Mom's storage to my brother, to me, and is now headed back to my brother.
I dream of setting this stuff on fire. Mom gave it all to me. She gave me full permission to do with it as I pleased. I just can't bring myself to fill a dump.
I think I need those movers.
Photo courtesy of my brother.
