I am in the midst of having one of the best Christmases ever. Why? Because I didn’t get anything except a carving knife and fork from my in-laws.
I know that sounds weird.
There comes a point where too much stuff becomes too much stuff. And as I get older, I realize that all this stuff has to go somewhere and soon. I cringe when I see boxes of old papers and awards, sitting in the garage, waiting for “someone” to do something with them. Or when I look in my closet, there on a hanger are all the 1st place and fourth place (go figure!) ribbons won for my horses, sheep and cat from various McHenry County fairs over almost 50 years earlier!
Some artifacts I put into the walls of Nillis Hall and this house when we rehabbed the place back in 2010. And I haven’t missed a single one of them. I haven’t got around to putting the drywall up in the garage, so perhaps a few more artifacts can be entombed there. Or do I box them up and send them to the McHenry County historical society?
What do we do with Stuff?
The easy stuff is, well, easy. Old school papers with a C+ on them are easy to recycle. But the drawing of the moose I made for my fifth-grade science project? Could it be that someone, someday will look at that and say, “this piece of art is exactly what started the movement.”
I doubt it and the movement is not going to be traced to that art as I recycled it.
I remember reading about Robert Lincoln burning all his father’s personal papers. I thought it a real shame in the fact that his dad was a legend. But who burnt Robert’s papers?
That’s the problem. At the end of the day, I have to accept that what is Stuff for me will turn out to be boxes of head scratching and commentary from most likely Aine. “Why did he save that?” Does she need to read all the correspondence I saved from old girlfriends? Probably not. Not that there are boxes of that either. There are enough journals from over the years she can read, or her children can read to amuse themselves after I am dead.
I guess that is why I cannot stand Egyptology. It makes no sense to me that these people willingly created Stuff with this misguided idea that it would accompany them to the next world. At least they buried it with them. That does make sense to me. Out of sight, out of mind perhaps.
I know that I have to go through my “Martyfacts” as I call them, and with a cold, calculating eye discard much to the recycle bin. I have to let go of the time and memories around them. And I have to accept that the world will not miss them at all.
But I do love the idea that some future person will open up a wall in Nillis hall and gasp.
“What do you see?” the person’s helper will ask.
“I see wonderful things!” the person will exclaim.
I am sure that will happen.
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