IT’S ABOUT STUFF

April 26, 2010

I never in my life expected to be sorting through twenty years worth of stuff. I’m not talking about the furniture; it was pretty much a given that since there is already a complete household in Livingston Montana that it didn’t make much (if any) sense to haul another household back there and do what? Store it? Yah right, that isn’t going to happen, not in this lifetime. 

So that leaves lots of clothing, most of that has been sorted through. Some went to my neighbors volunteer Discovery Shop and the rest to Goodwill. Fishing gear, oh dear! Trav tackled that, and it’s being packed up and will be hauled back to Montana. We’ll sort that out later. 

Then there were the books. Bless Trav, he had that all figured out. Small boxes, so one can actually carry them without breaking something. His inventory showed over 1,200 books. Those are all packed, except for a few we sold. We’ll go through those and what either we don’t want, or nephew Tom Travis doesn’t want will do to the library at Montana State College in Bozeman.

But there is the stuff; the bits and pieces of a lifetime. Little notes from small children tucked into a box in a drawer and long forgotten. Gathered up and sent off to the oldest daughter to hopefully give her a smile or two. 

Cookbooks, oh I had collected two bookcases full of them. Some were gifts, others picked up over the years because I was interested in one sort of food or preparation. I sorted through them and most of those will be given away as well. It turns out my tastes have changed and the probability of ever using a good share of those books is slim to none. But we collect them and keep them as though they are some priceless treasure. They took up the best part of a nice cabinet and the ones I did save are really ones I use - we probably can find room for them in Montana. The best of the bunch is a 40-year old Better Homes and Gardens red and white plaid book, falling apart with all sorts of recipes stuck in for safe keeping.

Then there are all the trinkets. There was a collection of bone china cup and saucers, which (believe it or not) Castwell collected, and as we traveled he would find a new one to take back home. They were hardly ever used, something else to dust. Hopefully someone else will use them, not just to collect dust - I did see somewhere a person had planted such cups with delightful African violets. They looked really very nice.

Somehow we ended up with a lot of hats. Okay so just how many do you have? Some I know you don’t want to part with some but you aren’t wearing them either are you? No possibility you still have at least one from high school? And one strange one someone gave you because they knew you were a fly fisher? Wear that one yet? Throw it away? Not a chance. I just look at all the hats and shake my head. Not so bad if they were just mine, but I still have most of my late husband’s hats too. 

I heard a story a while back about this fellow that really loved his fishing hat. It had become almost a good luck charm. It was getting pretty grubby, and since wore it nearly year round it was developing an odor of its own. John’s fishing companions began to complain, or rather give him a bad time about the hat, calling it fowl and worse. So John decided he would give the hat a decent burial. He and his fishing buddies were on a fishing trip to Yellowstone Park and somehow that rolled into fishing on Yellowstone Lake for Cutthroats. The decision was make to say the final farewell to the hat right there on the lake! A bottle of something alcoholic was involved, probably to sooth poor John’s feelings about losing his favorite hat. The hat was cast overboard with a proper farewell. It didn’t sink. The guys sat there in the boat waiting for it to sink, and it didn’t. They emptied the bottle and someone had the brilliant idea to go over to the still floating hat and tie it to the empty bottle so it would sink. Brilliant, but that didn’t sink either. (The result of alcoholic thinking I’m sure.) Another group discussion and they retrieved the hat and the bottle, filled the bottle with lake water and cast it off again. This time it sunk - burble, burble, and I’m told John cried.

Personally I’ve not become so attached to a hat and God knows I’ve had my share. You just don’t know how many you have until you have to sort through them. I hope they re-cycle.

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