I'm so glad you married me

Until I saw the obituary for Lois Wyse last week, I'd forgotten I had this title on my bookshelf at the summer cottage. She was 80 years old and had written over 65 books. I think I've owned 2 or 3 of her poetry books, and this one I had given my husband on his 34th birthday. It was published in 1971 by American Greetings. At the time she wrote this she was still married to Marc Wyse, with whom she'd formed Wyse Advertising. They divorced in the late 70s and in the 80s she married Lee Guber. Maybe it was this line: "I have figured out at last that/ Second isn't first, and first is all that matters." Needless to say, this book doesn't appear on the internet, except in one used book site, so I can't post a photo unless I take it. Meanwhile, I'll post this.

When I die, what will happen to my bookshelves?

I've written this poem for our daughter, who is our Executor. Still, you can't control what other people do, and I know that, so it's important to sift, sort and give away. My mother, aunt and grandmother all fussed about their books and memorabilia. Now I have them, and I'm worrying about them. Today I put grandma's dishes out to use for Sunday dinner tomorrow.

To my daughter, about my treasures
August 29, 2005

I want you to have our paintings,
of flowers, children, boats and trees.
You’ll sit back and admire I know,
closing your eyes in a squint
to see the artist’s true intent.

I want you to have the books,
Bibles, histories, poetry and lit.
You’ll treat them well I know,
opening them from time to time
so their wisdom doesn’t go stale.

I want you to have the china,
silver, pottery, and goblets.
You’ll dine with them I know,
setting a lovely white linen table
as you continue the traditions.

I want you to have Aunt Martha’s quilts,
pieced and stitched by lantern light.
You’ll fold, touch and smooth I know,
positioning them on wooden racks
to display her detailed handiwork.

I want you to have the photographs,
albums from way back when.
You’ll wonder at your folks I know,
dancing and partying with their friends
when the whole world was young.

I want you to have Mom’s recipes,
sewing chest and maple suite.
You’ll puzzle where I know,
shifting and rearranging like I did
until they are welcomed in your home.

I want you to have our calico cat,
kitty toys, bowls and love.
You’ll feed, pet and groom I know,
holding her close at night
until she leaves to join us.

All the rest just haul away,
the auctioneer’s close, up the road.
You’ll get a good price I know,
banking the rest for a sunny day,
after you lock the door.

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