I have a few projects lined up meant to help raise funds for brain health research and I want to complete them while Cindy is alive. The problem is they don’t conveniently lend themselves to being fully present with Cindy. I’ve turned now to a project that involves Cindy at least passively, one that has been placed on hold for too many years, reducing the mess and stuff in the house.
Cindy and I complement each other in several ways, two of them being organization and cleanliness. Cindy likes things clean, like most women I imagine, while dirt and I always have been close acquaintances. I like things organized, the Sheldon Cooper of the house, sometimes to the amusement of others. Thus to tackle the reduction of mess and stuff that has accumulated in the house is in large part to reduce Cindy’s mess and stuff, providing a nostalgic review of her life in the process.
Cindy’s “office space” in our attic has long been abandoned because of too many obstacles piled up. That’s where my current efforts are focused. Cindy looks over my shoulder as I sift through books, categorize them and ponder their fates. I double check with Cindy and remind her as to their agreed destinations: where they will be donated, who will receive them, which ones to keep.
The only disagreement we’ve had is in regards to the most unusual book in Cindy’s collection, her instructional guide to belly dancing. This was an intended hobby never realized, much to my personal chagrin. Cindy sheepishly wants the book to be donated but I think I’ll keep it. There’s no expiration date on fantasizing.
All of Cindy’s other books tell the story of a wonderfully active woman, the Go Go Go Gal as she was pegged by the group on our Continental Divide Trail journey. I knew of each of her hobbies individually, but only now as I weed through the entirety of her books am I amazed at the breadth of her pursuits.
The books returning to her “office space,” now organized, reveal the enthusiasm she once had for cooking, gardening, quilting, crafts, drawing and scrapbooking. The photo albums remain, a reflection on Cindy’s role as archivist for both sides of the family, converting print photos to digital. I will return the Galvin photos to the Galvin branch, as well as some Galvin and Plainville heirlooms I’ve uncovered. The Sinclair photos will eventually find their way to whomever is interested from the Sinclair branch.
She has no use at all for her nursing books, not even to remind her that she once was considered the “golden girl” of the Foothills Visiting Nurse Association before her decline. I will see if Foothills wants them. The general health books, bestsellers and coffee table books will be donated to the annual book sale to benefit the Norfolk Library.
That leaves a few books to be bequeathed to specific family members. To Charissa will go books on nutrition. To Serena will go books on activities for young children. To all our kids will go books on raising children and animals. To me will go her books on outdoor adventure and photography. There also is a collection of spiritual and children’s books which I will keep for the purpose of reading them to Cindy. I look forward to the warmth we will share snuggled together while I read her “The Velveteen Rabbit.”
Throughout our life together most of our hobbies differed, aside from the all important one of outdoor adventure. This now will change. I was going to take up origami this year for finger dexterity; that will be put on hold while I dive into Cindy’s drawing books. I fully realize that I am to drawing as Cindy is to music, but that’s a small consideration. I might be a little more adept at another one of Cindy’s hobbies. When we are done with our current project I hope to transition to gardening together outdoors. Right now it’s anyone’s guess which will clear first, the snow on the New England ground or the mess in the Sinclair house.
