BK and St. Jerome

Just came from dinner with my mother's friends in this building, Una and May, and Auntie Do - a very welcome invite from Una, as the dust is thick in Mum's place, and chaos abounds. For some strange reason, the conversation at dinner turned to death and its mysteries; May, who's in her late 50's, talked about her father's death, and Una, who's nearly 80, her mother's; Do, who's 92, talked about her parents', and we all talked about Mum's. And our own, and whether, though we are all non-religious, there is any spirit. Una said that she was in Canada when her mother died in England, and she knew when it happened, she was visited and actually touched that night.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio ...

Today - dealing with thousands of photographs. Boxes and bags and more boxes of photographs. I don't understand Mum, keeping things in such a jumble - very old shots of her family mixed in with my kids, with our travel shots from the 60's, photos of my father's professional life, hundreds of people we don't know or of miscellaneous landscapes. Do came to help identify the Leadbeater photos - there was Auntie Hattie in 1924, not a real aunt but my great-grandmother's best friend. Hattie Cumberpatch was her fine name, I've been wearing her ring for many years and have never seen a photo. A strong face. Do went through the others. There are too many Sams and too many Nellies, was our conclusion.

Earlier, I went through more files and the boxes of 78's and boxes of my father's writings and articles by and about him, a considerable pile since he was a high profile peace activist, academic and scientist. Very hard to know what to do with it all - all his (and his father's) New York high school yearsbooks, and nine hard cover bound volumes of his collected scientific papers, for example. A book of his entitled "Nucleo-cytoplasmic relations in micro-organisms" that I wanted to keep just for the pleasure of its title.

My brother came with his friend Mike for a couple of hours to take massive loads of all my sorting work down to the recycling and the garbage. My brother and I opened my father's briefcase, left as it was since he died in 1988, and shut it again. Too hard. It's all too hard now; I have reached the end, can't stand it any more. I'd hoped I could finish and not have to come back, but there's simply too much.

As soon as I get home, I promise to throw out everything I own. I will live naked in a hut, like St. Jerome, and commune with the birds and the beasts. Rather than leave my children a ton of dust.

Wonder how long before I forget this particular resolution - any bets?