“Tell me about your visit with my mom and dad.”
“It was wonderful,” Maga said. “So wonderful to have them here. Your folks look great. Your mom always looks great and I’d say retirement agrees with your dad.”
“He is freshly retired but keeping busy!”
“I’ll say. They stopped off at the house to get the green car and they had rented a car at the airport so they had two cars and could go in different directions if they wanted.”
“Did they need to go in different directions?”
“Well, I’m a bit of a collector as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Yes.”
“And so they had to go through a lot of stuff. Get rid of it. They had to take things to places where you can leave them if you don’t need them.”
The lack of ability to recall the word dump or goodwill or salvation army was not due to her 95.5 years of age. It was solely due to her status as a “collector.”
“And they didn’t even invite me to go with them.”
“Maga! Surely you didn’t want to go. It wouldn’t have been fun for you.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.”
Actually, I lied to her. I knew it would have been fun. Far too much fun in fact because what’s one person’s trash is always Maga’s treasure.
Abigail Mumford 