I'm on the farm with Deb and Steve during perhaps the most inopportune time of the year. My mother goes through phases where she thinks she hosts a show on Home and Garden Television and as a result 3,000 random projects ensue simultaneously. I'm reminded of her scrapbooking/stenciling summer in the early 90's. Half of the pictures from our childhood were cut and pasted to the pages of "Footprints In The Sands of Time" (her scrapbook's actual title) and all of our bathrooms had seashell borders.
This summer will be remembered as "The Clearing." She must have gotten her hands on some books about Minimalist design because I swear she is determined to wipe out the contents of the home. Everyday there's a carload of things to be dropped off at the Volunteers of America and every night my father asks what has been thrown away. "Debbie, where did the table by the door go?" And my mom's eyes grow wide as she sort of shakes her head to say, "oh I don't know." But we all know she knows.
The other day she went through each cabinet in the kitchen and basically threw away everything. To be fair, so much was not needed. She had a crystal deviled egg tray with actual grooved out little place holders for deviled eggs. This is not necessary in life. How often do people make deviled eggs that a tray made specifically for that food would be warranted? And she kept pulling out tons of stuff like this. In fact, so much random stuff that my sister and I had no choice but to play "Antiques Roadshow."
If you've never seen Antiques Roadshow, a part of my soul weeps for that incomplete part of your soul. But for those of you who have, you must agree that the best part of the show is when people bring something they think is valuable only to learn it's worth 11 cents. Anyway, Nessa and I took turns playing owner and appraiser and would have to tell the story of how we acquired the item or share the actual history of the item. Note to reader: This is instant fun.
We must have spent an hour making up fake stories about strainers (Viking helmet), metal kebab skewers (ancient Korean sword), and a lemonade pitcher with "Happy Holidays" written on it (lemonade pitcher with "Happy Holidays" written on it).
When my mother emerged from the basement with a bag of stuff to be given away she found me standing over a pile of ice cube trays giving a detailed account of their history as Ness listened intently. We ignored the random thing she was doing, she ignored ours.