This story seems to start in an existing conversation. That’s because it actually does. This was my reply in a conversation over at Stella’s Place last April. One of our Treeper’s was talking about helping his dad downsize, and working with his sisters to clean out some old stuff. In that conversation, I told this really unusual story of an experience related to cleaning out my mother’s home.

I’m hoping some of you have some stories to relate, stories that end with a twist, like this one did. Sometimes life gives strange surprises.

Share a tale or two with us today.

T, my mother was a hoarder before it was a tv thing, and they are mostly probably amateurs. Don’t know, don’t watch. Boy have I got a funny, sad story for you, since Sharon put me in the mood for a good story.

This is one of the gosh darndest stories of my life. Apologies all, this is a long story.

My mother died in 1998, probably one of the peak periods of my life in terms of pressure, stress, kids still in high school, job, etc. She left a house that had a two to three foot wide path through it, with an empty spot or two on the couch, her chair, and less than half her king sized bed. No one had been able to see the kitchen table or counter for many years.

She also had four outbuildings that had to be cleaned out. My brother declared himself “unable to deal with it yet” and in the 4+ months it took to get it done, he remained unable to deal with anything but bringing his wife religiously every weekend to plunder what I’d uncovered that they wanted.

All my life I’d been super ashamed of how we lived, and I was even then. My two sons who were still at home would come help when they weren’t working. My husband did not get back from work until after 7:30 at night, so he was only able to help some on Sundays if I wasn’t at work then.

I was working at Home Depot and I was on the cusp of getting promoted from hourly department head to my first management position. Even though I could only work off days and mornings on the days I closed, I refused to accept help except from my husband and sons, and one of his sisters.

My mother would never tell me where any valuables were, and I couldn’t even find her important papers, which were not in the box at the bank. So, I could not just throw things out, especially papers, and she had all the usual hoarder magazines and newspapers from umpteen years ago, etc.

My sister in law and I found many, many things that made us go, huh? Bags of leaves in the closet, big green garage bags. In one storage building there were garbage bags full of paper towel pasteboard centers and empty milk jugs.

But the all time most baffling one was found in the built in wall hutch in the dining room of the old house. We opened the doors at the bottom, and the first thing I tried to remove was a smaller garbage bag. Only to find it didn’t budge, it was too heavy.

My sister in law had a real appreciation for antiques, and quite a bit of knowledge of them, and while I was miserable, she was ever hopeful of finding great treasure. She shoved me out of the way and began speculating what we might have found, even wondering if it might be a big chunk of gold.

So, I tore open the bag, only to find a big heavy thing wrapped in foil, tore off the foil, which was old and not tearing well. There were layers of paper towels. Our anticipation rose higher. Another layer of foil under paper towels, I’m not kidding, and one last layer of paper towels.

At that point, even I was excited. What could she have treasured that much to have so carefully wrapped and stored it?

Well, it was a big round, kind of flat on the bottom creek rock. I marched outside and tossed it off the porch into the grass and hedges.

Over the years I often wondered about that rock and why she kept it. She was a hoarder, but aside from whatever causes that, she wasn’t mentally ill. Of course, I resigned myself to never knowing. And this is where it gets really weird and interesting.

A few years later I was at work and heard my name being called. A new hire at the Depot introduced herself and explained that our mothers had been best friends. They’d met on a cruise ship, taken trips to Hawaii several times, and had lots of adventures here at home too. I became good friends with the daughter.

Eventually one day, years later when we were having dinner and talking about our moms, I told her and her partner the rock story. She got this really amazed look on her face and said “Menagerie, I can tell you why she had that rock.”

Every New Years the moms cooked black eyed peas and greens. I’m sure you know, it’s a Southern thang. They decided they wanted kraut. My Mama had tons of huge crocks. They made the best friend’s husband take them up Sand Mountain to a wide, shallow creek filled with big rocks.

Apparently they spent an hour or two making him wade and turn over rocks until he found one just the right size and kind of flat on the bottom. Perfect for mashing down the cabbage in the crock. And every year they had kraut on New Years.

My friend and I still laugh about it, and my sister in law was floored to finally have the mystery of Mama’s rock solved.

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