I have spent a miserable fall breaking up my mother's house. We moved her garden to the best location we had, but who knows how much of it will survive. We probably won't know for several years.
Her library was another problem. I told my sisters I would take any books they didn't want. They each picked ten, leaving me the rest. After packing SEVENTY BOXES, I realized that I was going to have to leave some behind. I packed eight for each of my three kids, who happily were excited about it. Then I packed a few more... I probably could have taken all my mother's. That would have been about seventy boxes, which would fit on a set of metro racks in the attic of the garage. But my mother took all of her parents books. And her musician father's professional library of music. And her father in law's. And her college English professor mother in law's. And those four had kept their parents' books. And my great grandparents kept their parents. And they ALL read. A lot. It's hard to get rid of books with your three greats grandmother's name in them, even if they aren't books you want to read. Choices, choices... In the end, I abandoned the books of my mother's that I knew I had no interest in - like some of the murder mysteries that are too intense for me, some of the philosophy, her college botony text books. That made room for her father's adventure books and a selection of older books. I left behind anything too mouse eaten or too disintegrating. Or too depressing. I will reread The Three Musketeers. I hope never to have wade through the complete works of Hardy, no matter whose bookplate is in the front cover.
We also have been dealing with mice all fall. They moved in while we were taking care of my mother and we have been fighting them ever since.
All in all, it has been a pretty awful fall. Hopefully it will be over when the snow comes.
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