Have you ever tried to contain 67 years of marriage blessings into one room?
Let me assure you—it is definitely not doable. Not even remotely possible.
Like royalty, I now have two castles. One in the country, another one in the city. Therefore I also inhabit two comfortable and pleasant bedrooms with charming ensuites and as many shelves and boxy containers as concerned children can assemble. Even so, an abbreviation of my belongings stubbornly refuses to be contained in such prescribed places.
So in each residence I regularly spill out into family areas. Given a comfy recliner in each place I carefully make my nest. Therein is a veritable electrical substation to accommodate the many cords of connection that keep me Sane and Occupied. My iPad soaks up its charge in the same outlet as my companionable heating pad. Current reads are stacked by containers of pens and pencils, lip balm, and hand lotion. There is dedicated space for the daily cup of Earl Grey and even a nook for a stray cookie or two on a china plate.
Should my castle minions disappear while I am in my chair, I still am wholly self-sufficient for the rest of the age. Proper planning at its ultimate best.
It appears that wrestling with possessions is not only a problem of certain age. This past 12 months, four of my six progeny have purchased new homes. Some of the clan have upgraded into spacious new builds, while others have downsized to fit snugly into retirement and travel plans. Personally, I now occupy a storage shed, two bedrooms, and suitably feathered nests by my toaster chairs.*
We practice our flexibility, expanding and contraction our things, yet it is more than a material question. Two of our family watched in horror as their cherished childhood dwelling was razed, prized by the buyers for location, location, location. Gone in a day were the stout walls that kept them safe from the fox and the boogeyman. Downsized into nothingness. Only the decades of memories of lives well lived remain, and those vivid memories remain only in the minds of the now-scattered brood.
And this is how we live today, rich in the legacy of remembrance, mindful of what our memory will pass on in future days. Big castle, small castle, or just a corner. Will it be enough? I do pray so.
*Toaster chairs are a godsend for the aged. Press a button and your feet go up and your spine goes down. Push the opposite button and the chair spits you out—ready or not—to be a part of the walking community.
How is your castle a part of your legacy? Remember, you can’t take it with you. Leave your comment below.
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