Packing up
December 18, 1997

Cleaning out the house at Coon Court

It is the end of another day of completing the task of sorting through and cleaning out the contents from the Coon Court house, where the folks lived for eight years.This afternoon a major task was removing the firewood down to my wood pile, and sorting out more photographs and books. This was done while beautiful rolling fog drifted up the valleys and meadows, while deer and cats crept softly through it, and dew-covered bumblebees worked over the pink blossoms of the manzanita. Hanging low in the foothill valleys, the fog outlined the ridgetop trees. What a beautiful place for the folks to have spent some time.

Time traveling for me in the house sorting through photographs- many boxes of them packed in closets reflecting time passage - passages from being a little boy in San Francisco to a grammer school kid with my buddies in Novato, high school, then pictures I sent back with letters from college and work. Marriage, children growing up, me growing up, or anyway older. Its all there. Fascinating feelings, besides the physical tiredness. The feeling of comfort in being in Mom and Dad's home amid very familiar objects. And the contradiction that it is my job to efficiently remove all trace of them from that place, to turn the comforting home into a house. So many traces - books, pictures, paintings, drawings - things reflecting their interests, dreams, pleasures.

I have taken on the task of archivist. All letters and photos of course are part of that job. But what about the books and other things that reflect their soul? At first they go into the goodwill pile, but at final decision point many come out. The Agatha Christie mysteries that were so much Mom. Well, perhaps I will grow to like them, too. So into numbered cardboard boxes bound for my basement they go.

Later back home the moon provides some light as I grab some wood to keep the fire till morning. The glow of neighbor's windows through the trees and fog - Vern and Ruth on one side and Lana and the boys on the other - provides a comforting sense of community. The dry firewood carefully cut up by Dad is protected by tarps from the mist. My heritage is packed in labeled and dry cardboard boxes in the basement. All is well. Things are cool in Cool.