An invitation came in the mail, the other day. It read:
The Dowager Duchess of Downsize Abbey requests your assistance.
In other words, my mother-in-law was downsizing her living quarters again, and wanted our help. My husband and I replied by return of post:
Lord and Lady Grandmess will happily oblige.
It was a lie, however; I wasn’t happy, at all. In fact, I was baffled:
“Why on Earth is she requesting help from me?
Of everyone on the planet, I am the least capable of helping anyone throw things out. Has she forgotten how badly things went, the last time we tried?
All I did was drag things back from the curb, and try to make her keep them! It wasn’t even my childhood home she was putting on the market, it was yours! The fact that she’s asking for my help is proof that she’s either lost her memory, or her mind.”
“That’s pretty harsh,” said my husband.
“Have you really forgotten? You don’t remember me in hysterics at your mother, or sobbing over that ridiculous box in the driveway?”
His guilty look told me he had tried to forget. But all he said was, “Why not look at it this way: She’s giving you a second chance.”
“You’re in this, too, milord, make no mistake. I’m not going without you!”
We spent the trip to the condo reliving past experiences – by which I mean, deciding whose fault everything was.
“Remember that stack of National Geographic magazines?” I began. “You said they were a waste of space.”
“That was after you made me drag them back from the curb.”
“Well, I just couldn’t believe there wasn’t a dentist’s office, somewhere, that would love to have them. And what about that picture – the framed artist’s rendition of the house? The one your folks used as their holiday card one year? You have to admit, she goofed there. Even if the new owners didn’t want it, maybe your or your sisters would. I found it sticking out of the trash!”
“And now it’s somewhere in our attic. Have you even looked at it once, from that day to this?”
“No, but the point is, I could if I wanted. And so could you.”
“All right. But about that box…all I remember is, you were crying.”
“I admit, I got a little emotional. I suppose I was reading myself into the situation.”
He looked over at me. “You mean, you had a box of old computer parts, too, as a kid?”
“No, but I had a rock collection, one summer at the shore. I had rocks from near the water, from behind the cabin, from the rock wall my brothers and I climbed – they were my souvenirs, every one unique. And when we packed the car to go home, the box was empty! I asked my mom what had happened to it, but she just shrugged. I ran around and found them all in the garden!
“My dad was furious – he wanted to beat the traffic home, and kept saying, ‘They’re just rocks, Judy. See one, you’ve seen ‘em all!’ He was so mad when I made him put them all back in the car. So I knew how it felt to have people in your family who were itching to throw something out because it meant nothing to them. At the very least, they should have asked first! What, I was going to believe those rocks just evaporated on the trip home?”
“Well, I appreciate your going to bat for me, Judy, even if all we ever did was move my box from Mom’s attic to ours. At least, you got one thing for yourself.”
“You mean the crystal decanter? I didn’t mean to – but your mom had it on the ‘50 cents’ table at the tag sale! I told her there was some mistake, the thing was lead crystal and worth a lot more than that.”
“And did she re-label it?”
“No, she just said, ‘Oh, you like that sort of thing? Here, it’s yours!’”
“So now it’s taking up space on our mantel.”
“It looks good there!”
Suddenly, my husband started laughing. “Can’t you see the pattern? My mom doesn’t need our help with the ‘triage’ – there’s nobody better. There’s only one kind of help she expects from us.”
“Oh, yeah? What?”
“We’re the ‘removals’ van! But there’s a problem….” he said, his smile fading.
We said it together: “We’re going to need a bigger Abbey.”
