Funny, Not Funny

“I’ve had this duck since before I was born,” asserted my seven-year-old neighbor as she sat on her swing yesterday evening. Wow, okay, my mind stumbled back through the history of my current possessions. 

“I have a desk I’ve had since I was 12.” 

Fortunately I didn’t have my glasses on to see the look on her face. Her tone was enough. “That’s not from before you were born.”

Duly noted, thank you, future lawyer.

Perhaps that duck will be a family heirloom into the next century. Perhaps my desk will as well. Who knows.

What I do know is I have a lot of stuff in this house, stuff that at some point will have to be dealt with as in want it or don’t want it. Can give it away, can’t give it away. Pity my family if they have to bend shoulders to the task.

Maybe, if the timing works out, a niece’s child will want my garden tools because they are needed for a first yard—with a house, too, I suppose.

Maybe some will need to fill bare walls with prints and the collection of boat photos I have will work nicely.

Maybe some of the dishes will help a college student or a newlywed. Maybe they can go to Habitat for Humanity.

The heirloom cane back sofa that is more than a century old, somebody has to want that piece, right?

And the memorabilia, a beer stein from Germany, handmade pottery from family and friends, paintings, a collection of model clay soldiers from China, racing trophies—no, probably not the trophies. Anyone, anyone?

The recent surge to purge as part of the cultural zeitgeist makes me laugh. Take a look at the number of storage facilities coming to an area very near you. Not that there aren’t good reasons for renting one. But.

To believe we are not awash in a rising tide of stuff is for blinkered deniers. And consider the push to market the merch to the rest of the world. You think we have stuff here in the US, wait until 7 billion have the same amount of stuff.

Consider this cartoon from The New Yorker.

Funny, not funny.

Purge? Sure, that I will leave for my family when I am mortuus in lutum, feeding the garden.

Now, about the books. I’m am sure there will be quite the scramble for the 1640-page The Oxford Classical Dictionary.

Not funny.