Thank you for expressing the thoughts that so many of us are experiencing. After 46 yrs of marriage, my husband passed and now I’m at a point of many changes. So many memories are being packed into boxes. Do I stay or sell the house full of memories?
The most valuable baggage, good or bad, are memories, those we carry about ourselves, those we carry about others, and those who others carry about us. Some sadness, some gladness. May the gladness outweigh the sadness; and may any regrets be recognized, be forgiven, and be allowed to float away.
I wonder if the beginning of November, and the clocks turning back (except here in Arizona), brings out these reminiscences for us? Perhaps it’s because Halloween is also All Souls Day, the day some of us (I) think about our ancestors and, when we grow older, our own past.
Growing up at a time where photographs were precious, where we didn’t carry our cameras around with us, most of my memories up until my 50s are in my head. They reside there, in shadowy photograph albums until something triggers them. Something on a webpage about Charlie Brown’s Great Pumpkin and suddenly I get a flash in my mind of homemade costumes, of children laughing in the dark, my mother giving me a pillowcase to carry my loot in, having to wear an overcoat on top of my costume because of the Montreal cold. Four blocks in our neighborhood, pillowcase now getting too heavy, we head for home. The next day is a Catholic school holiday, we have time to check out our loot. Those weird molasses candies that are so popular in Quebec. Candied apples. Aching stomachs and aching teeth.
And then the pages in that misty photograph albums turn again and now into my mind comes my daughter going trick or treating much as I did, this time in another province, Ontario, but, laughter again, homemade costumes, checking her candy at home, no more homemade treats, they’re too suspect, carefully hiding the candy after she’s gone to bed, doling out the treats over the next month…. Pages turn again but now here are actual photos on Facebook, turning up as “memories, 18 years ago,” of the grandchildren dressed in store-bought costumes now, trunk or treating in a church parking lot because “it’s so much safer”. Chilly weather instead of cold, no need for an overcoat, just perhaps light sweaters over flimsy costumes. Four and three, a fairy, a dinosaur. Plastic pumpkins to carry instead of a pillowcase. Still the same excitement, the same checking of treats when they get home.
But the reality this year is that I didn’t encounter any trick or treaters, staying home in my 55+ community. Waiting for the Facebook photos to be posted by my last remaining grandchild who still “trick or treats.” The other grandchildren are either working or going to college parties. May not hear from them at all, at least until the family Thanksgiving dinner. Moving on.
Thank you for this masterfully crafted musing. Poignant. Universal. It reminds me that we are all in the same boat, really. And that all we “own”, really, is this moment before us.
There is an old aphorism that goes, “Let go or be dragged.”
I carry many memories.. but through the years I’ve pared back most of the unnecessary stuff to only those things that I will use; And every now and again, I sort through what I still have boxed up to see if I REALLY feel the need to keep what’s hidden from view. . .
"I remember the walls of their living and dining room filled with sketches and sculptures, the shelves crowded with books and sheet music—a portal into a full life." - I loved this... this portal into a full life. I've left so many homes, so many countries, people, animals never to have the chance to visit even a ghost of what was once there. They all live now in the "I remember..."
"My daughters’ hands no longer fit as snugly in mine as they once did when I took them trick-or-treating." Made me think of my 26 year old son and how now my hands fit snugly into his, sort of like time turning back in on itself.
It is a dreary rainy day here and reading this was good...Thank you.
When I sort through my possessions and decide to keep something, I’ve taken to putting little notes on them that tell our children where it’s from and what meaning that thing has for me. So down the road they’ll know and then decide for themselves whether my chosen treasure will become theirs too for whatever reason they might have. Regardless of their decision, they’ll know me just a little bit better through the process.
I'm doing that, too. My grown kids and grandkids are too busy with their lives to be interested in why some things are special to me and what meaning they've held. I, sadly, was busy, too, when my Mom was able to share, and I was so busy. Hindsight is often poignant.
Thank you for sharing your experiences and vulnerability. A few months ago, my husband and I put everything in storage and became digital nomads. It is a new experience to have transitions every few weeks rather than few years. As a result, we have spent more time with family in between locations and slowed our urge to purchase souvenirs (it all has to fit in a suitcase). We're both in our 50s and it feels like it's a good practice of focusing on connection and experiences rather than things.
I look at the stuff I have accumulated over 86 years, make a resolution to deal with it immediately and then think better of it and read Substack comments or take a nap. One or all of my 4 children will have to deal with it when I go.
Me too Joan. Right now I feel I'm drowning in an ocean of stuff. I declare an intention to take care of matters and the next thing I know, I'm on Substack again. The other day my therapist posited that I may be losing my agency by over engaging in social media. I'm considering her words now, as I find myself responding to your comment here on Substack at 1 o'clock in the morning!
My wife is of Swedish-Norwegian heritage, and as we enter our eighties, she suggested we embrace the concept of Swedish Death Cleaning as an act of love and care for those following us. It is also a conscious acceptance of our mortality and a focus on the present moment.
The passing of my parents was a study in contrasts. My mother was a hoarder with full closets and a chaotic organizing style. It took my sisters days to sort through everything, and most went to Goodwill.
My military officer, engineer father was her polar opposite. After my mother's death, he downsized his possessions, sold his furniture, and moved into an apartment in a continuing care facility nearby. After he died, he had detailed lists of all his financial records, important contact information, and even a prepaid cremation service. Managing his estate did not add to the trauma of his passing. Anything left behind was of significance and imbued with his spirit.
I have had other family and friends now deceased, but I still receive zombie social media messages from their still active accounts. It is important to do digital death cleaning as well, leaving passwords and login information for family members. https://www.thespruce.com/swedish-death-cleaning-4801461
I am reminded of the sign posted on hiking trails: "Leave nothing but footprints." Don't be a litterbug for your family to clean up after. Let go of all the unimportant things so the final surrender arrives smoothly.
“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days… Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me…So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly, my darling…” ~Aldous Huxley
John, thank you what a great idea, I had no idea digital accounts could stay open after death, I will make sure my daughter has all of my passwords .m.
Change is unavoidable. Throughout my life, I’ve reinvented myself four times, each move taking me into a different field of work. Now, at 75, I’m living through my fifth change—retirement. Thirteen years into it, I can say with conviction: I don’t plan on starting a sixth career. Instead, I’m doing what I’ve always loved—painting.
I hold fond memories from every chapter of my working life. I remember All Hallows’ Eve, especially one night when it was simply unbearable to be outside.
As for regrets—well, there’s always that Frank Sinatra song, I Did It My Way. Painting has softened most of those regrets, as have my grandchildren.
Not to spoil a good thing—like all the reality we’ve lived through—but I sometimes think about how easily people can lose sight of what’s genuine. With time, though, truth reveals itself. Those who’ve learned to see what is real and what is not will find peace in that understanding, and perhaps help others do the same.
When I drive by relics of homes — the kind that stand alone, surrounded by a few towering trees, a skeleton silhouetted by empty door and window openings, grayed wood long without paint — I can almost hear the lives that were lived in those rooms and I wonder about them …Lovely, thoughtful post, Elliott, thank you.
This piece really resonated with me. I am a retired educator, and a mother of two wonderful adults and a grandmother of three little girls. A year and a half ago, my husband and I decided to move to the PNW to live closer to our offspring. It meant culling many unneeded possessions, and leaving behind the 34 years of close friendships we made while we lived in Tucson. It was harder to let go of the friendships than the stuff--but the memories stay with us, and we stay in touch with special friends. No regrets!
Thank you for expressing the thoughts that so many of us are experiencing. After 46 yrs of marriage, my husband passed and now I’m at a point of many changes. So many memories are being packed into boxes. Do I stay or sell the house full of memories?
Some changes are difficult.
Thanks for your words of wisdom.
I am sorry for your loss.
The most valuable baggage, good or bad, are memories, those we carry about ourselves, those we carry about others, and those who others carry about us. Some sadness, some gladness. May the gladness outweigh the sadness; and may any regrets be recognized, be forgiven, and be allowed to float away.
I wonder if the beginning of November, and the clocks turning back (except here in Arizona), brings out these reminiscences for us? Perhaps it’s because Halloween is also All Souls Day, the day some of us (I) think about our ancestors and, when we grow older, our own past.
Growing up at a time where photographs were precious, where we didn’t carry our cameras around with us, most of my memories up until my 50s are in my head. They reside there, in shadowy photograph albums until something triggers them. Something on a webpage about Charlie Brown’s Great Pumpkin and suddenly I get a flash in my mind of homemade costumes, of children laughing in the dark, my mother giving me a pillowcase to carry my loot in, having to wear an overcoat on top of my costume because of the Montreal cold. Four blocks in our neighborhood, pillowcase now getting too heavy, we head for home. The next day is a Catholic school holiday, we have time to check out our loot. Those weird molasses candies that are so popular in Quebec. Candied apples. Aching stomachs and aching teeth.
And then the pages in that misty photograph albums turn again and now into my mind comes my daughter going trick or treating much as I did, this time in another province, Ontario, but, laughter again, homemade costumes, checking her candy at home, no more homemade treats, they’re too suspect, carefully hiding the candy after she’s gone to bed, doling out the treats over the next month…. Pages turn again but now here are actual photos on Facebook, turning up as “memories, 18 years ago,” of the grandchildren dressed in store-bought costumes now, trunk or treating in a church parking lot because “it’s so much safer”. Chilly weather instead of cold, no need for an overcoat, just perhaps light sweaters over flimsy costumes. Four and three, a fairy, a dinosaur. Plastic pumpkins to carry instead of a pillowcase. Still the same excitement, the same checking of treats when they get home.
But the reality this year is that I didn’t encounter any trick or treaters, staying home in my 55+ community. Waiting for the Facebook photos to be posted by my last remaining grandchild who still “trick or treats.” The other grandchildren are either working or going to college parties. May not hear from them at all, at least until the family Thanksgiving dinner. Moving on.
Absolutely gorgeous writing.
Thank you for the kind words
Eliot,
Thank you for this masterfully crafted musing. Poignant. Universal. It reminds me that we are all in the same boat, really. And that all we “own”, really, is this moment before us.
There is an old aphorism that goes, “Let go or be dragged.”
Great advice. Easy to give. Hard to take.
I carry many memories.. but through the years I’ve pared back most of the unnecessary stuff to only those things that I will use; And every now and again, I sort through what I still have boxed up to see if I REALLY feel the need to keep what’s hidden from view. . .
"I remember the walls of their living and dining room filled with sketches and sculptures, the shelves crowded with books and sheet music—a portal into a full life." - I loved this... this portal into a full life. I've left so many homes, so many countries, people, animals never to have the chance to visit even a ghost of what was once there. They all live now in the "I remember..."
"My daughters’ hands no longer fit as snugly in mine as they once did when I took them trick-or-treating." Made me think of my 26 year old son and how now my hands fit snugly into his, sort of like time turning back in on itself.
It is a dreary rainy day here and reading this was good...Thank you.
When I sort through my possessions and decide to keep something, I’ve taken to putting little notes on them that tell our children where it’s from and what meaning that thing has for me. So down the road they’ll know and then decide for themselves whether my chosen treasure will become theirs too for whatever reason they might have. Regardless of their decision, they’ll know me just a little bit better through the process.
I'm doing that, too. My grown kids and grandkids are too busy with their lives to be interested in why some things are special to me and what meaning they've held. I, sadly, was busy, too, when my Mom was able to share, and I was so busy. Hindsight is often poignant.
Thank you for sharing your experiences and vulnerability. A few months ago, my husband and I put everything in storage and became digital nomads. It is a new experience to have transitions every few weeks rather than few years. As a result, we have spent more time with family in between locations and slowed our urge to purchase souvenirs (it all has to fit in a suitcase). We're both in our 50s and it feels like it's a good practice of focusing on connection and experiences rather than things.
I look at the stuff I have accumulated over 86 years, make a resolution to deal with it immediately and then think better of it and read Substack comments or take a nap. One or all of my 4 children will have to deal with it when I go.
Me too Joan. Right now I feel I'm drowning in an ocean of stuff. I declare an intention to take care of matters and the next thing I know, I'm on Substack again. The other day my therapist posited that I may be losing my agency by over engaging in social media. I'm considering her words now, as I find myself responding to your comment here on Substack at 1 o'clock in the morning!
Probably we're not alone.
Wishing both of us well,
Susan
Thank you ! But I was not up at 1am - not after watching that great last World Series game !!!
KEEP ON KEEPING ON Elliot !!!
Love your WISE, reflective writing …
My wife is of Swedish-Norwegian heritage, and as we enter our eighties, she suggested we embrace the concept of Swedish Death Cleaning as an act of love and care for those following us. It is also a conscious acceptance of our mortality and a focus on the present moment.
The passing of my parents was a study in contrasts. My mother was a hoarder with full closets and a chaotic organizing style. It took my sisters days to sort through everything, and most went to Goodwill.
My military officer, engineer father was her polar opposite. After my mother's death, he downsized his possessions, sold his furniture, and moved into an apartment in a continuing care facility nearby. After he died, he had detailed lists of all his financial records, important contact information, and even a prepaid cremation service. Managing his estate did not add to the trauma of his passing. Anything left behind was of significance and imbued with his spirit.
I have had other family and friends now deceased, but I still receive zombie social media messages from their still active accounts. It is important to do digital death cleaning as well, leaving passwords and login information for family members. https://www.thespruce.com/swedish-death-cleaning-4801461
I am reminded of the sign posted on hiking trails: "Leave nothing but footprints." Don't be a litterbug for your family to clean up after. Let go of all the unimportant things so the final surrender arrives smoothly.
“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days… Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me…So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly, my darling…” ~Aldous Huxley
John, thank you what a great idea, I had no idea digital accounts could stay open after death, I will make sure my daughter has all of my passwords .m.
Sometimes you can designate on the app who is authorized to close your account if you are unable to do so.👍
Change is unavoidable. Throughout my life, I’ve reinvented myself four times, each move taking me into a different field of work. Now, at 75, I’m living through my fifth change—retirement. Thirteen years into it, I can say with conviction: I don’t plan on starting a sixth career. Instead, I’m doing what I’ve always loved—painting.
I hold fond memories from every chapter of my working life. I remember All Hallows’ Eve, especially one night when it was simply unbearable to be outside.
As for regrets—well, there’s always that Frank Sinatra song, I Did It My Way. Painting has softened most of those regrets, as have my grandchildren.
Not to spoil a good thing—like all the reality we’ve lived through—but I sometimes think about how easily people can lose sight of what’s genuine. With time, though, truth reveals itself. Those who’ve learned to see what is real and what is not will find peace in that understanding, and perhaps help others do the same.
When I drive by relics of homes — the kind that stand alone, surrounded by a few towering trees, a skeleton silhouetted by empty door and window openings, grayed wood long without paint — I can almost hear the lives that were lived in those rooms and I wonder about them …Lovely, thoughtful post, Elliott, thank you.
This piece really resonated with me. I am a retired educator, and a mother of two wonderful adults and a grandmother of three little girls. A year and a half ago, my husband and I decided to move to the PNW to live closer to our offspring. It meant culling many unneeded possessions, and leaving behind the 34 years of close friendships we made while we lived in Tucson. It was harder to let go of the friendships than the stuff--but the memories stay with us, and we stay in touch with special friends. No regrets!
This made me cry. Thank You!
I got misty, too.