IWSG: A Sentimental Journey

                   
                                                                       

It's time for another edition of the Insecure Writer's Support Group. Be sure to visit Alex J.  Cavanaugh and the rest of the talented writers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.

This has been a very bittersweet summer, as we are moving from our family home of 28 years. Our boys fled the nest a few years ago, and in a few weeks we'll be downsizing to a new apartment in the downtown area of our North Shore suburb.

The good news is that we'll be conveniently located just steps away from the grocery store, restaurants, shops and movie theaters. The bad news is that I'll probably be sneaking off to Dairy Queen every day.

It will also be an adjustment fitting everything from our home into a two-bedroom apartment. We've had some luck selling our furniture on Craig's List and a garage sale site on Facebook. We've also given away bags and bags of clothes, and small household items, but some of the most unlikely objects suddenly have sentimental value.

I decided to go to my mom the hoarder for advice:

"How can you throw out that ashtray collection that I bought you when you first got married?"

"Mom, you were the only person who ever smoked in our house, and we don't have room for them."

"Well, you never know. Smoking might come back in style."

Our boys' new condo has more space, so we gave them our old dining room table that seats up to 12 guests. My mom helped cheer me up when I showed her our new dining table that seats four.

"I guess this means that you won't ever be able to have your own kids over for dinner."

My mom didn't want to hear about having a lack of storage space.

"You will have daughters-in-law one day, so you need to save everything for them. By the way, don't even think about giving away any of my clothes. You never know when I'm going to wear them again."

As I look around my home, I see the large, green wooden coffee table where both of my boys learned to table walk. It's the same table that my son turned into a stage and performed one-man shows with props and costumes, while his baby brother looked on.

The boys a few years later

My husband, mom, brother and I would cheer after every performance, and my three-year-old star would always ask, "Are there any questions from the audience?"

Without missing a beat, I would raise my hand and say, "Are you married?'

He'd act mad, but he always called on me.

Currently, we've been trying to sell that table online, as it won't fit with the other furniture in the new apartment. We found an interested buyer who likes the table so much that he's willing to send us a certified check, sight unseen, and a mover will be happy to pick it up. He's even willing to sweeten the deal by adding $30 for our trouble.

I think I'll offer him my mom's ashtray collection instead, because you never know.