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Drink the Good Wine First

Life is short. Drink the good wine first.

My mother believed the exact opposite of this sentiment. She stored serving platters, company silverware, guest towels, and a whole set of deep red goblets with the mindset of using them someday. In particular, a king sized bedspread comes to mind.

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Waiting for Someday

When we moved to the house on Cleveland Street, the master bedroom had a strange combination of pale green carpet and light golden walls. My mother bought a spread in a medium shade of maroon with darker red and mauve roses laying in a leafy background of green and gold, the exact shades of her new room. It was perfect and looked like the room had been decorated around the spread instead of the other way around. After we admired it for most of one morning, I helped her stuff it back into the original plastic cover and we shoved it into the top of her closet. “I’m saving it to use someday. I don’t want to get it dirty,” she told me.

Someday Arrived

By the time someday rolled around my father was diagnosed with cancer and she moved into my old room so he could rest undisturbed during his chemo treatments. She donated the king bed to another family and in its place a much smaller maple piece filled the space.

Both of my parents passed away too young, leaving me, their only child, with a lifetime’s worth of their stuff. Still in the original packaging, well protected from dust, the rose bedspread belongs to me now.

Someday I’ll have to sort through that mountain of boxed memories, but in the meantime pass the good wine please.