When our children grew up and moved out of our house, my husband and I officially became “empty-nesters.” I remember having mixed feelings about it, both proud of the adults my son and daughter had grown into, yet also feeling the loss of the children they had been. But for the first time in years, I had empty closets, dresser drawers, and even empty storage containers on our basement shelves. It was a strange and wonderful thing.
I remember standing in my son’s old bedroom in front of an empty dresser and wondering, “What am I going to put in it?” Usually my problem was finding a place to store our stuff, not finding stuff to fill our storage space. Eventually, I put my collection of antique post cards, our heating pad and extra throw blankets in that dresser, deliberately leaving one drawer empty so houseguests could use it to unpack and settle in properly.
That was approximately ten years ago, and sadly, finding stuff to put in empty storage space in our house is no longer a problem. Somehow or other, we’ve filled every one of those closets, storage bins, and dressers. The house that used to comfortably hold a family of four is now full to bursting, even though there are just two of us living there now. And I have absolutely no idea how that happened.
I’m not a person who shops a lot, or who is comfortable having a lot of stuff. I cull my wardrobe regularly, and make frequent trips to local donation centers with bags full of clothes and household items. With the exception of my photo albums and my books, I’m not, and never have been, a “saver.” If anything, my motto is “less is more.” So how did I end up with a full house?
I can blame some of it on the grandchildren. My grandmother kept a bedroom in her small bungalow reserved for grandchildren, and it always made me feel so welcome. I wanted that for my own grandkids, so they have a dedicated room in our house, complete with toys, books, and a crib. I also acquired a few things when my mom moved to a retirement community, which explains the large drum table wedged into our third bedroom. My husband sometimes complains about it, but I grew up with that table and can’t seem to let it go.
Still, that doesn’t account for the overflowing storage shelves, the packed-to-capacity closets, the boxes underneath the pool table in the basement family room, etc. We do a big clear out every couple of years, congratulating ourselves on successfully downsizing our stuff, but it’s always just a matter of time before those closets and shelves fill right back up. I don’t understand it and I don’t like it, but it still happens.
I guess I just need to accept that this is one of life’s mysteries, like how we can put two matching socks in the washing machine and only one sock comes back out. Or how we can diet for two weeks and lose one pound, but eat one piece of cheesecake and gain three. Maybe some things just weren’t meant for us to know….
The last of my tomatoes is gone, and I didn’t get to eat any of them. I absolutely love the taste of home-grown tomatoes, so over the past several years I’ve made several attempts to grow them myself. Sadly, all that work and effort produced only one bumper crop of cherry tomatoes. I was happy and proud, but it only happened once. Some years I grew enormous tomato plants that didn’t actually produce tomatoes, other years my plants were infected with “white flies” which meant the tomatoes never ripened, and one year something ate my entire tomato plant. All that was left was a sad little gnawed-off stump.
Sometimes it’s hard to be a dog. I mean, I know I mostly live a good life: I’ve got a nice home with a loving human family, a big yard, and my very own basket of dog toys. But I can’t help but noticing that at my house, there are certain glaring inequities between the lifestyles of those who walk around on two feet and those of us who walk around on four paws.
Mom and Dad might feast on a huge variety of meats, pastas, vegetables, fruits and breads, but do you know what I get served? Dry dog kibble, that’s what. Twice a day, every day. Yes I know that there are plenty of starving dogs in the world who would happily make do with kibble, but do you have any idea how hard it is to see and smell so many tasty foods, day in and day out, and never get offered more than one tiny morsel of it? Trust me, it’s enough to drive a dog crazy!
There is no doubt that we have been through some very trying times, and that some of us have faced devastating losses. It’s easy to believe that most of the good things we took for granted before the pandemic have been lost forever, but I honestly don’t believe that’s true. There are still so many reasons to be hopeful….we just have to keep looking until we find them.
And things went mostly according to plan. As we settled into our house, I soon realized that relaxation is a rare commodity when you’re vacationing with a three-year old and a one-year old. (I’d count myself lucky if I could muster up just one-tenth of their energy and stamina.) But that was just fine, because I also realized that although sharing a house with active little people may not be relaxing, it sure is fun and entertaining, especially if they happen to be your grandchildren. There’s something pretty special about stumbling out of bed in the morning and being greeted with big smiles, hugs, and an enthusiastic, “Yea! Grandma’s up!” I mean, my husband and I love each other dearly, but mostly we just grunt at each other first thing in the morning.
I hate to admit it, but it does seem to me as if sometimes the old ways were a whole lot easier. My mother never worried about how she was going to store her photos, because she had a simple system: print them and stick them in a photo album. And even though they were taken many decades ago, I can still get out my baby photos and look at them any time I please, with no worries about compatibility, adapters or unnecessary waste. Apparently, back in 1958, they knew how make things last…….
But mostly, the problem is that my husband’s battle with cancer didn’t end with a victorious “bang.” It has simply wound down, slowly, and on an unpredictable schedule of its own. And it’s taking both of us a while to give ourselves permission to believe that the worst is truly behind us. But that’s okay, because we’ll get there eventually, the exact same way we got through his treatment: one step at a time.
Muddling Through My Middle Age 