On the move again

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 29/12/2015 (3654 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

No one really knows when it starts and the end of it varies from person to person. I suspect it begins like a breeze that picks up currents until it becomes a gale, a storm or a hurricane ravaging a landscape that’s taken a lifetime to develop. Destructive by nature, it is known by many different names: messy housekeeper, collector, pack rat, or hoarder. At what point does one attain the distinction of hoarder? Is the condition caused by personality, poverty, or a major life change like a world depression or the premature loss of a parent? Steadily a storm brews, gathers strength, dumps its load and a lifestyle is altered.

Despite her idiosyncrasies, Aunt Sarah has always been my favourite aunt. She bought me my first record when I was in grade three, The Teddy Bear’s Picnic. The wonderful lines — If you go out in the woods today, You’re in for a big surprise — sparked my imagination. The image of teddy bears having a picnic was absolutely delightful! Another year, she gave me the book Little Women, which I read again and again as I immersed myself in another world.

Aunt Sarah was there for me during the most momentous moments of my lifetime. She and I walked to the grain field when I was 8 years old to tell my dad that I had a baby brother. At age 22 when I got married, Aunt Sarah was tying the bow on my dress when Mum walked by and reprimanded me for being so slow. Much to my surprise, Aunt Sarah replied: “Leave her alone. It’s her special day. Don’t spoil it for her!” Only a sister could have calmed down my mom as effectively as my aunt did that day.

Aunt Sarah, widowed and childless, decided at age 85 to move out of her cozy cottage into a seniors’ complex. I knew the task would be daunting: for the past fifteen years, no one had been exposed to the enormity of the problem. If we picked her up for a family gathering she would say: You don’t need to come in. I’ll come out to the car. If it were Christmas she would return home laden with presents; occasionally she would allow us to accompany her up the front steps and hold the parcels while she rummaged through her purse for her keys. One particular Christmas, the night time temperature was -35 with a bone chilling wind. In her haste to grab her parcels from us, Aunt Sarah fell backwards into a four-foot snow bank. A few choice expletives were uttered, followed by the now familiar refrain: “No! I don’t need any help to carry it inside!” as she slammed the door. I had no real concept of how deep the piles were inside, but I would soon find out the hard way.

When Aunt Sarah sold her house, she had three months to move. Rather reluctantly, my sister agreed to help with the transition. The time had come. We wended our way through a narrow tunnel between heaps of clothes, newspapers, and household objects piled four or five feet high. I asked Aunt Sarah:

Where do you think we should start? Maybe with the clothes?

That sounds like a good idea.

We decided on three piles— good to keep, maybe, and must go. She handled everything we picked up and was very reluctant to part with anything. Pointing with her index finger, Aunt Sarah would say: “Maybe I’ll wear that some day. Put it in the ‘keep’ pile.”

Progress was painstakingly slow, and each item had its own story that Aunt Sarah wanted to share. We listened as she told us a unique story about the turquoise dress, which she had worn to a nephew’s wedding. Aunt Sarah laughed and her eyes lit up with delight as she recalled someone asking: “Are you the mother of the bride? You look so beautiful!” What a coincidence that the colour of her dress matched that of the bridesmaids! We experienced another side of her personality when one of us accidentally picked up a purse from a pile and threw it into a garbage bag. Aunt Sarah spotted it and exclaimed rather loudly: “That’s my purse! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Another delay as she checked to see that the contents of her purse were intact.

Aunt Sarah’s attachment to little knickknacks, china, and glassware was very strong. It became quite a delicate situation to handle. Here we were, poking and sorting through her personal possessions and precious memories. It was a difficult process for us, but we will never know how painful and disturbing it was for her. Often there were frequent interruptions from neighbours just dropping by to chat. I suspect that they were curious to see just how much she had in her house.

One of the more brazen visitors asked Aunt Sarah if she were going to sell some of her belongings. “I don’t really know. I’ll probably sell what I don’t need.” The lady said she would come back and she did — right after we left.

When we weren’t around, she bought some very unique ornaments at a rock bottom price. Who would have thought that under the guise of friendship this neighbour would take advantage of our aunt? Surely she must have been aware of how hard Aunt Sarah had worked to earn a decent living!

Now, it was my turn to drop by for a friendly visit. A living room lined with china cabinets confirmed my suspicions. Indeed this lady dealt in antiques and was well aware of their market value. Our spirited discussion was polite and straightforward. I expressed my disappointment with her treatment of the elderly and left with a sad heart.

Endless hours of sorting were spent with Aunt Sarah sitting in her soft chair directing the traffic flow. Some items were sold, some given away, others donated. We made multiple trips to the dump despite the repeated command: “Let me see that.” Eventually we finished. Then it was time to tackle the garage. There was no limit to the disarray, no beaten pathway down the centre, and no semblance of order. Amazingly enough, there were mouse droppings but no mice. And no traffic director giving orders. We emptied it in record time — two days and four truckloads later.

In mid-September we moved Aunt Sarah into her new abode. She purchased a rug, a sofa, a television, and a comfortable La-Z-Boy chair. Her delight with her new place was evident, as she wanted us to visit more frequently. A cheerful voice would greet us: “Just a minute. I’ll buzz you up.” She was grateful for our help; we were glad to be with her in a clean environment. Aunt Sarah was proud of her new home.

Within a year an accumulation of articles, new collectables, recyclables, and garbage re-surfaced. Her beautiful mahogany table was piled high with papers and sundry objects. It was no longer a plateau: it had become a hill. A squall was advancing; steadily the storm was gathering strength.

Floundering, we were back to “I’ll meet you downstairs,” when we came to take Aunt Sarah out somewhere. A quick, almost curt, goodbye and our dear aunt vanished into her building and her haven. Sometimes there was no good-bye. The window of opportunity was closing: hopefully we would be able to weather the storm.

A phone call from the management indicated that they were having trouble getting into Aunt Sarah’s suite to fix things. They couldn’t even get in to change a light bulb. Clutter was virtually everywhere. Shortly after this notice, all the tenants received official notice that the building was to be renovated and needed to be vacated by spring. We were asked to come to a meeting regarding Aunt Sarah’s situation. A social worker could guide us in the process of dismantling the clutter. We readily agreed. Side by side, we tackled the problem with feelings of disgust, bewilderment and sadness. Occasionally we giggled. At other times there were disagreements. The whole process took about five months. During this period of time Aunt Sarah turned ninety and we had a family party marking a monumental milestone in the life of a remarkable woman. She was pleased.

Very few personal belongings went with her to the new place. She bought a new television and lamp. It was also an excuse to buy a few new clothes. The place is bright and she is cheery. It has been nine months since Aunt Sarah moved and we keep a watchful eye out for unwanted piles or items. Maybe, just maybe, we can prevent a full-blown hurricane. Most importantly of all, our relationship has weathered the storm. Through the many changes of location, our affection, our respect, and our love for each other has not diminished. Aunt Sarah likes her new place and in her own words: “I don’t ever want to move again.”

 

 

Eleanor Penner writes short stories and narrative poems, reflective of her life experiences.