If you’ve been around long enough, you have a lot of things. With two places to live, I have a ton. Most of it was acquired during my fifty-one years of marriage although I do still have a few items from my college days. A fraternity paddle, a couple of mugs and my Lambda Chi blazer. Thank heaven that blazer can’t speak.
Over the years things piled up. Special things were put on display like works of art. They may not have been actual pieces of art but were noteworthy enough that their presence ensured that others could enjoy them when they visited. Practical things like kitchen utensils, linens, and furniture were used right away or put into a drawer for another day. We added to the treasure trove year after year. Sometimes Ruth shared her purchases and sometimes she just bought them. The truth is I never cared what she added as long as it made her happy.
There was a time, when money was tight, that I wasn’t so open minded. I thought we should be saving or buying more practical items. Although I didn’t know it at the time, sometimes Ruth put new clothes away for another day. Weeks later she’d wear a new top or pair of slacks for the first time, and I might ask if it was new. She’d say, “No, I’ve had it for a while. Maybe you didn’t notice.” She was right. I hadn’t because I never saw it. I learned later that she sometimes put things in BZ’s closet. Out of sight. Out of mind.
A few years ago, I found several new tops with the tags still on them. They were hanging in our Florida closet. Squirreled away for another day. I wrapped them up and gave them to her on her birthday. She recognized one as being similar to one she already owned. I fessed up to my shenanigans and gave her something more practical. Golf balls with her name on them.
I’ve decided that I’m going to start sorting through the things in both houses. I don’t need most of them, but I know David, Elizabeth and Michael will want some. I’ll keep all of those. They know more about some of the treasurers than I do. They were with their mom when she bought them and know the story behind them. That’s the true value. The story.
Our things are just things until they have a story. Some are about places. Some are about people or the craftsman who created the treasure. Some are spontaneous and some develop over time. Their monetary value isn’t important, but the memory is. You can’t put a price on that.
I’ve asked the kids more than once to let me know if there’s anything they want. They’ve taken a few things but not many. When I’m gone, they’re going to need a couple big trucks and maybe a dumpster. That will surely happen in Michigan and perhaps Florida. I’m very sure about one thing. No matter who’s around to sort through it all, there’s going to be a lot of stories shared and perhaps a few secrets.
If there’s a way, I’ll be listening.