I do well with order. I like to keep a tidy house, with a place for everything and everything in its place. However, right now I am living in the “messy middle” as my friend calls it, because I am charged with going through many boxes of my late aunt’s possessions. “I’m going on a treasure hunt,” of sorts.
My aunt died is 2004, but her long-time friend and housemate lived in the house they owned together since 1968. The house was passed on to Florence when Auntie Ag died. Florence lived another 16 years in that house (after Ag’s death), and Florence died in their home at age 99.
So it was up to Florence’s family to clear out, and clean up, the house. They carefully put all the items that belonged to Aggie in boxes to be given to our family. I was chosen as the point person, so over a dozen hefty boxes were delivered last week, to my doorstep. Each individual box to be sorted, organized, and then distributed.
My house is a mess! I have tablecloths and linens on the dining room table…my grandma’s wedding dress hanging in the office,
my kitchen table and counter tops full of old photos, another room with a table set up and all kinds of Norwegian folk art and other miscellaneous items on top of it. There is a large box of jewelry, and another large box of pictures off the walls, a box of books and a box of Christmas plates…and more boxes in the garage…
So for now, I am going through her stuff, one box at a time, and setting it out for her niece and nephews (my cousins) to pick out what they want from the collections. In my effort to declutter my own things I’m in the mindset to not keep much. I hope I don’t regret it but I think a few mementos, and some photos, will suffice.
That being said, I did succeed in finding a most valuable treasure within the boxes. I opened up an inconspicuous, old, Fanny Farmer candy box and discovered it was full of hand-written letters, from my father to his mother and father, and sister and brothers.
My father sent these letters back home from the army during WWII. I did not know the letters existed, all dated 1942 or 1943. I’ve been reading each one and learning a bit about this man, my father, who died at a young age (55 years old). I was 20.
These letters are precious. They will be kept, read and reread, and cherished.
I set out on a treasure hunt, and found a fortune.