Old things

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.  

Yep, the third book down is a reissue of
the 1950's era Baltimore Catechism