Cleaning House

Arny and I were packing up the rest of the things to be taken to storage. We had decided early on that we would only take what we thought we would need for the next year or so, leaving everything else in the bottomless hole called 'storage' - the place where things go in and you never see them again. Or you only find half of what should be a whole - the other half surely packed in another box, the one all the way in the back under the four others on top of it.

At first, it was easy putting things in various piles. Power tools: to storage, except for the drill - Arny needs a little security tool to take with him, that's ok. Clothes: to japan. Slightly worn clothes: thrift store. Slightly worn clothes with many stains: garbage. As time went on the decisions became harder and harder.

Do I take all of my old greeting cards, so when I am really lonely for New York I can read them and remember a time where my friends were close by and spoke English as their first language?
What about all of the yarn and knitting needles - am I ever really going to knit or should I just finally just let that thought go?

And the records - yes, old vinyl. Should I keep them or just put them all up for sale on Ebay? You know, I am still holding on to the original "Meet the Beatles" album. I can't tell you how many times I have packed up that album or when the last time I actually played it was, but I can tell you that seeing the cover with my name and address scribbled on the cover in black crayon makes me think of my grandmother. I went to Korvette's with my her to buy it - my first record album. About to be a real teenager with a real album of my own, I wandered around the record department until I saw the cover of the fab four on the cover - George, Paul, John, Ringo! - there they were, within arms reach!!. I was so excited as I followed her up to the counter, feeling very grown up - very grown up with my very own record album, not just one of those dinky little 45's.

I stood behind her as she handed it to the rather cute, also real teenager like me sales guy and said "can you play this?" He looked at her like she was from a different planet - planet ANCIENT to be exact. Leering at both of us, he replied, "we don't play the albums, we sell the albums". I cringed right there thinking my first album experience, more importantly, my first album experience with cute boy teenager was being shattered at that very moment. I pleaded "no grandma, he doesn't have to play it". "But how do you know you want it if you haven't heard the songs yet?", she said defiantly to both of us, as if at any moment we would both recognize the wisdom of age and aquience to her wish. In her day that is what you did. You went into a store, picked out a record and the salesman would play it for you. Then after listening to it, you would either buy it or ask to hear something else. As forceful as I dared to be, I said "I know, I know I want it, please can we just buy it" wanting, really wanting to disappear into the floor, with or without my copy of "Meet the Beetles". She stared at me for a minute, as if she was evaluating the level of my desire. Shaking her head, she slowly turned to the guy and said "we'll take it".

As I walked out of the store with my album, still embarrassed at what transpired inside, little did I know many years later, it would be one of the memories of my grandmother that would make me miss her...even after all these years.

P.S. I kept the album.