The Pickford’s movers were willing and able to bring boxes and furniture into a cleared out room. In no time at all they had unloaded everything we had considered precious enough to make the long journey across the Atlantic,
and wished us a good day.
We closed the door on England until we could muster enough courage to unleash the carefully packed memories.
It was several days before we returned to the room.
First off we tackled the clothes, all personal to us so not too traumatic. Most of it found its way back to the railings and shelves of our closets.
Over the weekend we went through the glass and china and selected familiar pieces that we could begin to enjoy in our family home.
Items that I had only ever seen in my parents’ house while I was growing up.
Items older than me that showed up in black and white photos.
They looked out of place 4000 miles across the pond.
At the same time they looked at home.
We spent a whole day hanging pine furniture.
I told my school teacher daughter this and she laughed,
“I am imagining chairs hanging from the ceiling…” she said.
That would be funny!
We added a coffee table from our living room in London, to our garden room in Garland, my favourite blue china is adorning the freshly sanded and waxed surface.
The room has taken on a cosy personality.
Our kitchen with its newly added mantlepiece looks warm and welcoming.
The baskets and hanging pots reflect themselves through the mirror adding depth and a country perspective.
Funny how everything that appeared large in our little English flat now stands up for itself beneath our cavernous ceilings.
Three boxes remain with my mother’s dishes and glasses. There is simply no room for them in my kitchen cupboards. They sit under the stairs waiting for us to buy a cabinet.
At least they won’t get broken in their nests of tissue paper.
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