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Whiplash...
Jul. 1st, 2017 01:19 amRecently we were called upon to sell Mom's house. We accepted the project as we had accepted the transfer of executor from another family member to me and had accepted the lead role in moving Mom from that family member's house to an independent living facility. We'll allow the preceding to fall under the "best solution for all concerned" heading and continue the story from another view.
Some background is necessary to set the stage, but I'll keep it germane: Dad died almost twenty years ago, on his birthday and on the Father's Day that coincided that year. The phone call home to say we were on our way over for the get together became, Dan, they're doing CPR on your father. Again, we leave the page and pass to another chapter...
Mom, ten years of adaptation, a vehicular accident, a bit of medical mis-management, a fall, another fall, the decision as a sole occupant of the house no longer practical, a move to a family member's house, grand kids non-renting the house (and the family growing therein) for another seven years. Again, background, and a remove to an earlier chapter in the family history...
Of the several skill sets my father held, wood working was one of those he practiced at a craftsman or even master-craftsman level (I admit a bias). Combined with a true master's knowledge of all-things-electrical, he modified, crafted, re-purposed, and created anything from a birdhouse to put together with a grandson, to a full workshop building in the back yard, to a three level, 12' x 8' O-27 gauge train layout in the garage.
Work of this level demanded tools, and tools to fit the nature of the work. I learned early on which brands worked well, when to save a buck for a one-off project, and when to know when it was time to purchase a radial arm saw to complement the table saw when production work was the next step. Hand tools? Yep, from his early days, including the wire cutters with the gap blown into one blade when I cut a wire pair that was live (prank in a shop class in junior high; no one laughing), to the full sets of wrenches simply to have that particular full set of wrenches.
...and again, a pause; a moment needed to learn that shortly after his death Mom had given away the train layout and much of his "stuff". ...and again later, when one of the grandkids sold off "tools for grandma", only without prior consult. So his son, not his protege by any means, but nonetheless in possession of a portion of his skill-sets, had to make peace with the fact that some memories will be just that: memories, sans prompts, such as tactile or visual stimuli could provide.
Onward, ever onward, and now to the close of a chapter: the house is changing ownership; the grandkids have kept the house itself as it should be, they've even upgraded several areas with grandma's finances which will make the sale a bit easier. We still need to move some furniture somewhere (estate sale?) and we do need to assess whether the workshop in back should be torn down or can live again as something other than supposedly storage for still more furniture. ...and so, while Shelley is reviewing the house, I have the shop to unlock and see what needs to be removed.
( Imagine... )
Some background is necessary to set the stage, but I'll keep it germane: Dad died almost twenty years ago, on his birthday and on the Father's Day that coincided that year. The phone call home to say we were on our way over for the get together became, Dan, they're doing CPR on your father. Again, we leave the page and pass to another chapter...
Mom, ten years of adaptation, a vehicular accident, a bit of medical mis-management, a fall, another fall, the decision as a sole occupant of the house no longer practical, a move to a family member's house, grand kids non-renting the house (and the family growing therein) for another seven years. Again, background, and a remove to an earlier chapter in the family history...
Of the several skill sets my father held, wood working was one of those he practiced at a craftsman or even master-craftsman level (I admit a bias). Combined with a true master's knowledge of all-things-electrical, he modified, crafted, re-purposed, and created anything from a birdhouse to put together with a grandson, to a full workshop building in the back yard, to a three level, 12' x 8' O-27 gauge train layout in the garage.
Work of this level demanded tools, and tools to fit the nature of the work. I learned early on which brands worked well, when to save a buck for a one-off project, and when to know when it was time to purchase a radial arm saw to complement the table saw when production work was the next step. Hand tools? Yep, from his early days, including the wire cutters with the gap blown into one blade when I cut a wire pair that was live (prank in a shop class in junior high; no one laughing), to the full sets of wrenches simply to have that particular full set of wrenches.
...and again, a pause; a moment needed to learn that shortly after his death Mom had given away the train layout and much of his "stuff". ...and again later, when one of the grandkids sold off "tools for grandma", only without prior consult. So his son, not his protege by any means, but nonetheless in possession of a portion of his skill-sets, had to make peace with the fact that some memories will be just that: memories, sans prompts, such as tactile or visual stimuli could provide.
Onward, ever onward, and now to the close of a chapter: the house is changing ownership; the grandkids have kept the house itself as it should be, they've even upgraded several areas with grandma's finances which will make the sale a bit easier. We still need to move some furniture somewhere (estate sale?) and we do need to assess whether the workshop in back should be torn down or can live again as something other than supposedly storage for still more furniture. ...and so, while Shelley is reviewing the house, I have the shop to unlock and see what needs to be removed.
( Imagine... )
