
Peeling paper on the walls leading downstairs, worn old carpet underfoot. The basement with the brown paneling, memories of family parties over the years. Bags and boxes of dried flowers for arranging, heaps of them in storage. A huge AC Moore craft bag when they were going out of business, stocked with ribbons, wreaths, more dried flowers, pinecones, acorns, twigs and tiny bird nests still in the wrapping. We put together a white wired basket filled with old paint, paintbrushes, glue gun cartridges (she had at least 100), fabrics of patterned blues, whites and greens. She loved nature and being outdoors. She had a whole garage full of garden stuff. I wondered what would happen to it all. She had loved her garden gnomes and little signs, whimsical and happy for the little people that would come to visit. And we were all little once. Bags and boxes of clothes from Talbots and Orvis, each piece worn with love. Pelty towels, some christmas themed, some in the closet for a good twenty plus years. Her beautiful watercolored paintings, brushed with talented hands and careful strokes, capturing scenes that only she saw. Tears shed on the drive home, thinking of my dear Aunt Maureen, grateful to belong to a family where sharing always did mean caring and where memories of cold ski vacations warmed my heart.