Today was the first day of the estate sale for my mother’s house. We aren’t selling the house, just many of the contents. My parents had oodles and oodles of things — many of them collectibles that worked in that house because of its size, but which Eddie and I can’t accommodate in our homes. And then, after my father died, people who loved my parents both gave my mother exquisite pieces — crystal, Lladro figurines, work by Denis Knight and Jessica Maycock and Lillian Blades.
These things went on sale today. The sale was scheduled to begin at 8:30 this morning, and people were at the house by 8:00. When I got there — right at 8:30 (the sale was being handled by Jay Koment, a premier art and antiques dealer) — there were people waiting to get in.
I have to say, I was apprehensive to say the least. Letting these things go wasn’t easy. Pieces that we were clearing out have memories, and I wanted to feel as though those memories are being shared up among the people who knew and loved my parents. My father’s favourite chair — to a cousin who loves it. My mother’s favourite — to a former student and lifelong friend. My father’s music books — to his pupils, that sort of thing.
I needn’t have worried. One of the first things someone said to me, after asking how I was handling the sale (and the answer was I was handling it perfectly well, thank you, until that very moment that I saw all the people and knew it was time to let things go), was that so many of the people who had arrived bright and early were there because they knew and loved my parents and they wanted to have mementos of them. That made me happier. Much happier. And then the people who bought the things that mattered most to me were people who knew my parents and loved them, and so it was all good.
We do it again tomorrow, and then it’s time to start work on the house.
All, all part of the process of letting go.




Penny, it took me a year to get this far! People who have a sense of history in this country always accumulate a whole lot because they don’t trust that objects, words, things that have meaning for the nation as time goes forward will be adequately preserved — after all, my mother watched institutions like ZNS and other national archives dump all their old stuff because, well, it was old. We are only just getting to a place where our institutions recognize the value of collecting and preserving items from lives that have passed on. This has made it easier for me — I have taken the leap and donated papers and objects to COB’s library and am also considering the NAGB and the AMMC and the Archives for other items. But our generation, I’m sorry to say, has been responsible for the destruction of so much Bahamian history that I’m ashamed to be one of its younger members. Civil servants who have no vision have to share in some of the blame.
Nicolette,
I can really say I know how you feel. I am making a start at sorting out Daddy’s stuff and I don’t know for the life of me when I will ever finish. How do people accumulate so much stuff!
I really would have liked to come to the sale but was not able to.
I’ll look for something for you, Lynn.
gosh what a trip for you old friend. o my goodness i would so love to have a small something from their estate. i admired them both very much. they both should have received queen’s honours.
Yes, he would have. I was around and he saved those programmes (we haven’t found them yet; we are only getting rid of the stuff Mummy had organized before she died, and there’s a heap of stuff we have to go through ourselves.) I imagine they might be worth something some day. I remember that story — he loved the typo!!
I empathise. Keith was a pack rat and kept everything. He and I went to Jamaica in 1963 and Keith brought back riverstones because they were so smooth. I found them when I was “clearing ” up his stuff. Incredible memories. I miss your mother and father, I can’t imagine how much you and Eddie must miss them.
A brief story – My printing company, instprint, was printing a programme ordered by your Dad for Prince Charles. Prince of Wales, visit. Well we delivered the programmes and Clement calls me in hysterics – he could hardly talk he was laughing so hard. His laugh was infectious/contagious as you know. When he was able he asked me to read the cover. We had spelt Wales with an h. He thought it was great. Yes we did fix it but I think your Dad would have liked to leave the “h” in. Love Tony