HoneyBunch and I married when in our fifties. By then we had a lifetime behind us as well as a moving van of stuff each that we wondered how we would merge into one home.
I moved into his house after the wedding and went through every nook, cranny, room, and closet, and totally rearranged it into “ours.” Organized is the better word. His bachelor pad was clean but kind of “disorganized.” His ex had left him with all the odds and ends she did not want on her quest to a “better life,” so I replaced things a little at a time. It took me one year to fit all I wanted from the two houses into one and sold my old house.
We compromised on a lot of things, but still we ended up with two china cabinets and two family-sized eating tables. I kept my “buffet” and he kept his “dry sink.” He kept his Christmas doll collection and I kept all my nativity sets, but it took me several years to convince him we should limit our Christmas decorating to just the dining room. It limits how much stuff we set out which is a difficult thing to do since together we own more than twenty bins of Christmas stuff. Yes, twenty big bins.
I finally convinced him this fall we should merge our Christmas things into one, so we went through all the boxes and bins, and we got rid of a lot of “stuff.” We sold it all at a yard sale – old, beat up, metal Christmas signs one sees at roadside gas stations, homemade table top decorations made from garland, strings of blinking lights, or corn husks. Old Home Interior Christmas knick knacks and my collection of Santa salt and pepper shakers and ash trays (which I had to explain to several folks was an ash tray and not one of those plates you set on the stove top to set stirring spoons on while cooking).
What did not go was the twenty-six year old artificial Christmas tree that I threaten to throw out every year or HoneyBunch’s fifteen-footer. I dust my old tree off, “fluff” it up, and position it just right so no one sees the weak spots where the “limbs” no longer want to cooperate. HoneyBunch threatens to set up the fifteen-footer up on the back patio, maybe on Christmas Eve, and give it one night of lights and glory.
I agree. My raggedy old tree and his giant are remnants of other times. It does not matter whether they were good or bad, they are reminders of who we are today, and for that we are grateful.