Trying to help Mom get a handle on this part of life, going on without Dad, my wife and I have been doing some painting and redecorating in her home. Dad was a good guy. He really was. But home maintenance wasn't something he was big on. Didn't like the furniture moved, wouldn't paint a room to save his life. Wasn't what he was into. So now, we're moving things around. Repainting. (four rooms so far) Bought her a new couch, few other things. Still looking for a bedroom chest she likes. Mom doesn't like to go to what was her and Dad's bedroom anymore. She's moved into another one. My sisters old one. Which is fine. But she needs furniture befitting her status in there. Aunts and Uncles...they mean well, telling Mom she doesn't need that big house anymore. But they're wrong. Because that big house is more than simply a big house. It's her home. She raised us kids there. Grandchildren played there. All those useless nicnacs...so many hold a memory. And in the end, it isn't the stuff that matters. It's the memorys each one brings. So as we've painted, I've told Mom to redecorate, and to display the prized pieces. Because more than pieces, they tell the story of her life. Spook...with a little paint on his sheet.