Ephemera. More. And More.

When I wrote the first ephemera post I was feeling comfortable, even happy, with the addition of family photos to my walls. And family memorabilia. And then we started clearing out the storage.
Oh.
My.
There were boxes and boxes of photos. Lots of landscapes from trips. I was happy to toss those. With the possible exception of David Hockney I'm not that into landscapes. There were pictures of groups of people that I didn't know. Interestingly the mommy and her mommy both spent lots of time in groups of women. Eastern Star. D.A.R. Various bridge clubs and church groups. I like that but ... I tossed them. K took pictures that were so far back you can barely see who it is. So ... Mom in front of a statue, or a tree, or a house. Mom. Very tiny in the middle of this ... landscape.
I am not emotionally suited to this project. I clench up every time I toss something. It feels like tossing a person's life.
Mom likes looking at some of the pictures but gets upset if she looks at too many. She never asks to see them. And there are so may old, old, old pictures of generations back. Some are very cool. But I don't know who they are. I toss them and then I clench. I have two copies of my grandmother in her wedding dress. One needs to go. I am not emotionally suited.
Somehow I've become the archivist for the family. And...they don't really care about all of this.
It's not just photos. I have a statue of Lincoln. It was Grandma's. I saw it during my childhood. I never really wanted it but there is NO Way I'm tossing it. And there is all the silverware. My aunt's silverware. My grandmother's. My mother's. I like a lot of it and I have pulled it out from time to time. Plus I use some of it regularly. But...I have way more than I'll ever use. I. Just. Can't. Let. It. Go.
There is more in the storage and a few boxes are now in my home storage because I was confused about what to do with them. I did all this with my own ephemera before I left SF and still had work to do with all of that. I am NOT emotionally suited. I feel damaged after each session of sorting and tossing. People say it feels good to clear things out but it doesn't feel good to me. Not while I'm doing it anyway. And not when it's someone else's stuff.
Mom had a friend who she'd known since they were both babies. The friend gave Mom a ceramic plague with a cartoon of two older ladies, which reads: Lucie and Betty. Best friends forever. Betty passed last year and Mom fell into a deep depression. If I hang the plaque on her wall it could trigger more depression. But I feel like weeping every time I try to put it in the trash. I realize that to some extent this is me dealing with the loss of Mom before she's gone. My life is filled with moments of needing to let go of her. It's a protracted last act of our time on the stage.  
I had a small stick that a friend's son had given me when we in a park sitting on my desk for years. I tossed it with watery eyes when I was clearing out in SF.
Not.
Emotionally.
Suited.
It has in some ways cured me of want to buy anything, ever, again. Although there will always be a book I need. I'm still caught by kitchen stuff. Dishes. Salt and Peeper shakers.
Oh lordy.