I have always been reluctant (a euphemism for unwilling) to throw away old things. I'm not a hoarder, I do force myself to ditch most junk. But I have a lot of "stuff" from my ancient past taking up space on bookshelves and in closets. Not junk, STUFF.
I have begun to imagine my daughter and son-in-law cleaning out our house, getting it ready to sell, after we pass. From where I'm sitting I can see a bookshelf with photos of all the cats we have had, a battered copy of The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet, Mistress Masham's Repose, and all my high school yearbooks. I see my 1950's St. Joseph Missal sitting between two of my mother's old bibles. I'm not a practicing Catholic, you know what I mean? It's nostalgia. I also have more photo albums than I care to admit. Oh gee, there's a Fuzzy Wuzzy kitty bank our grandchildren gave us sitting on the third shelf down. I wonder if I still have that pink piggy bank that granddaughter E painted for me 18 years ago?
This is just one bookshelf, mind you. Yesterday I was texting with friends about Captain Kangaroo, and I asked them if they remembered a book he read on his show, Millions of Cats. They didn't. I had a copy and ran to get it so I could show them the great cover art. Then I remembered I passed that book on to a great niece just last year. I was annoyed with myself, until I realized nobody really wanted to see the cover art. And if they did, I could google the book title to get the cover art.
I really have to start thinking about old things in a different way. And I need to let my daughter know I'm fine with her throwing away all my stuff when I'm gone. I am just sorry I couldn't seem to do it myself.
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| Yep, the third book down is a reissue of the 1950's era Baltimore Catechism |
