I started to clean out my co-op that will again be my home. My daughter has been living there for the past nine years, but she and her husband moved uptown the day before Thanksgiving, so I’m moving back.
Rediscovering what I had left behind when I left the apartment brought back sweet and bittersweet memories.
I found a box that held lots of photos of Edgar and me, at his house in Connecticut when we first met; on a Mississippi River cruise on an authentic steamboat; at the famous Ascot horse race, which takes place at the famous track, about an hour from London. I even found the hat I wore to the race. Edgar and I had many great times together for 12 years, even though it ended badly because he was cheating with a thrice-divorced neighbor (after cheating with his secretary, his travel agent, and goodness knows who else.) It ended especially badly for Edgar, because he died, at 67, after suffering a stroke. (If he had lived he could have run for President.)
I also found a box of letters from my dad to me when I was an unhappy freshman at Syracuse University in 1964. Dad wrote tomes of advice to me, trying to buoy my spirits, but nothing worked. I left Syracuse after my first semester. I hated being away from home; the place was too social for me; the weather was hideous (especially when I had to go clear across the campus in the freezing weather after a swimming class. My wet hair would turn to icicles.)
I found a silver link bracelet, with tiny, round colored stones, that I didn’t love a decade ago, but love now. It’s tarnished, so I need to get silver polish to shine it up.
I found a stack of oversized pottery dinnerware plates, in beautiful colors, that I always adored and forgot I owned.
I am not a hoarder (I often go through binges when I throw out bags of possessions), but I’m thrilled that I saved some of the treasures I unearthed. It is stimulating to recall memories, even if some of them are a bit unnerving.