Our son-in-law moved his mother to a local assisted living facility last weekend. She was leaving a farm that has been in the family since 1905 but health and age have made it impossible for her to safely live alone.

Before the move my daughter and I visited nine local furniture consignment shops. What an eye-opener that was. There are bargains to be had. I do not think I will ever purchase another new piece of furniture again without checking these places out. Much looked new or gently used. It appeared that people either had moved, down-sized or simply gotten tired of looking at the same furniture and decided to redo their homes. The shops looked like warehouses.

Everything for the home was available in every theme for every price, but mostly reasonable to cheap. We had such a good time furnishing the new place for her mother-in-law. And we renewed the art of bargaining for a better price.

At the back of our minds though was the thought that she had lived with her furnishing for many decades and might have grown terribly fond of the house full of possessions. What would she think of our flowered couch, the drop-leaf table, bookcase and dresser? How would she adjust to living in a new town, with people all around her, knowing no one except family? What would she think about living in two rooms rather than five? It was a concern.

But not to worry. Today I visited. She is the type of woman who, given a topic, is off and running with the conversation. Gregarious I would say. I may have said fifteen words the whole hour. She was delighted with the apartment as she had expected only one room. Where she once received two TV channels, here she has 50. Where she once cooked for herself and ate alone, now she dines with a former school superintendent and his wife who is a former preschool teacher (as she is). The food was deemed delicious, perfect baked potatoes, tender roast beef and a menu with options. The grandchildren had supplied beer nuts and ice cream to tide her over in the evenings.

Living with a cancer diagnosis for seven years, she told me she knew she was not going to be able to live independently for much longer, not out on the farm, miles from 'town' (this town is too small for a traffic light). And the house, she said, is just a house. Her memories, and many of her 'sit-arounds' came with her: dolls, monkeys and chickens, sitting along the shelves of her 'new' bookcase.

I learned a valuable living lesson today. I have always believed that a house and possessions were just 'stuff' but this is the first time I had encountered someone with the same philosophy but who had lived it out and found it to be true. Wise woman.

And that's what I think about it.