Down and dirty with Jenny’s stuff

Allison Brophy Champion / Culpeper Star Exponent
Published: May 2, 2007

Life sometimes requires getting down and dirty.

Sweaty dirty, sneezing dirty, covered in decades-old dust dirty, can't stop itching your nose dirty, can't look at what's in that jar because it's too nasty dirty.

I'm not always attuned to the down and dirty, but when I am, watch out. My mother taught me well about dirt.

Mercifully, somehow, in all that dirt, especially in cleaning away someone else's dirt, there is redemption. If you're willing to get dirty enough.

Armed with buckets of water and fruit-scented Mr. Clean, I arrive in Jenny's room Sunday morning, aiming to finish what I started, oh, some three months ago. I also have a jumbo pack of heavy-duty trash bags and a pile of clean rags.

Three months ago, I cleaned through half of Jenny's room before the winter set in, the sun stayed low in the sky and my motivation died.

She died seven months ago in this very house, and behind her, Jenny, my husband's mom, left a lifetime of stuff. So much stuff, all crammed together, important stuff and worthless stuff, mixed up in no particular order and hidden away in every possible crevice of space.

I never thought her room was all that big until I started going through it all. Where does this stuff end- Who needs four dressers, three trunks and a closet in one room-

After getting through the first half, I tried to put the second half out of my mind, like someone else was going to take care of it.

Then spring arrives and I start seeing yard sale signs everywhere around town, and I remember how much Jenny loved yard sales. It's how she got so much stuff in the first place; that and taking care of old people her whole life - for some reason, they always liked to give her things. She liked to give also.

Jenny and I had planned for a big yard sale at her place on the weekend after she died, and we had made headway in the rest of her house - sorting through, wiping off, tossing, giving away.

"You have to have the yard sale the first weekend of the month," I can hear her saying.

"That's when everyone has money."

And we need the yard sale money to help fix up her house. It was the plan all along.

Time to dust off that initiative, I think to myself, walking into her long-deserted room with purpose. My husband tears down the dirty curtains, throws up the windows, and I start on the closet.

I get through her clothes easy enough and start on her shoes. Toss, keep, toss, toss, keep, toss.

I find a cool pair of leather boots that have come back in style, just my size, and the remnants of many mice nests. Ew.

Even worse are the 20 or so Mason jars filled with dark-colored foodstuff, long gone bad, and headed for the trash.

"She was planning for Y2K," my husband jokes, and he gets a laugh out of me.

Until I have to start sweeping. More critters and nesting pieces and hey, what's that behind the closet wall- It's the tiniest ceramic mouse, so small it looks like a piece of dust.

I brush it off, smiling, thinking she hid it there for me. It's now the most miniature miniature in my big collection.

Next I turn to the big cedar chest, and it's filled with piles of bedcovers and sheets that smell like cedar. Nothing too interesting here, though this stuff will work well as drop cloths when we paint. More garbage bags fill up.

By this point, dirt is flying and I'm thinking I'll never get clean again. I feel like a sweep.

"Chim chiminey Chim chiminey chim chim cheree!" I hum to myself, taking a drink of clean water, or at least I think it's clean.

Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!
Lord, bless me - one more trunk to get through. This was much more bearable when Jenny was around, I mumble to myself, not knowing what I'll find next.

More layers upon layers upon layers of stuff. More dusty stuff. I've been cleaning for nearly five hours (I won't talk about my bathroom experience), and am feeling beat. Jenny's room is kicking my b-hind. Man, I must have really loved her.

Tempted to scoop the rest of it up and toss it, I refrain, taking a deep breath and patiently enter the homestretch. My eyes are dirty by now.

Toss, toss, keep, toss, keep.
Woa, these are beautiful, glass cut dishes, heavy too and hand painted. Are they sushi dishes-

Jenny liked her fish fried.
I'm nearing the end of my cleaning expedition, getting filthier by the moment.

At the very bottom of the trunk are some old photos of my husband's really tall father and Jenny when she was really young. What a beauty. She smiles at us through her bright, red lipstick.

"It's weird now that it's empty," says my husband, frowning.
It's cleansing too. Redemption means getting something back.

Going through Jenny's mess gives me back the laughing memories from our final days together cleaning out her other rooms. The absence of her mess, now, causes the memory of finding her on the couch to fade.

It's gone with the dirt, and I'm ready to get down. Plus, I've had some exercise and I can always use that. Sweat equity.

Allison Brophy Champion can be reached at 825-0771 ext. 101 or