There were heaps — accumulated reminders of a life — all around. Everything that served as an archival asset, or a teaching aid for future filmmakers, I boxed and hauled over to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Clothes, I donated. Books, I culled down to the essentials and gave the balance to the library. I avoided looking at my computer for days, ignored my constantly vibrating mobile, and I turned off the ringer on my landline. I played music at all hours, danced when I felt like it, and slept in any room where I had spent the day organizing. If I couldn’t quite see a plan to execute in my mind, I could in my house. And what about the house? It was so ridiculously big. A home should be filled, specifically with children. I pulled all the papers from my files (that I could find) to deed the property over to Jake, his future wife, and my (yet to be born) infant grandchildren.
When I texted Jake the good news he replied, “Thanks Mom. But don’t think I’ll be needing a screening room.” The issue of the house I put on hold.