In the end, it’s just “stuff”

Connie’s Corner

A neighbor of mine recently passed away and for the past couple of weeks his family has undertaken the arduous task of preparing the house for resale. Observing them deal with his belongings has been a sobering reminder that we really are transient travelers on this planet.

To be blunt, all the activity has caused me to seriously think about what will happen to my “stuff.” We’ve all heard old sayings like ‘you can’t take it with you,’ or ‘things don’t matter, people do,’ but I have to be honest here and say there have been many times my desire for “stuff” has overridden my budget and my common sense.

It’s embarrassing to admit this, but I have stuff that is still in boxes from when we moved to Navasota 10 years ago this month. What’s even worse is that I probably have stuff in my garage that didn’t get unpacked in the move from Houston to Bedias in 1999!

Male or female, we all love stuff and the differentiation between stuff and junk is in the eye of the beholder. My late husband would probably tell you that underneath the business suits he wore for 40 years was a very unmaterialistic man - just a good ole farm boy from Wharton County, but I beg to differ! Talk about stuff? He possessed all manner of computer and electronic stuff. And then there were the nameless loose parts, farm implements and tools. I mean really, just how many drills does one man need?

You can imagine he had as much reverence for my quilting stuff and Bernina sewing machines - yes machines plural - as I had for all those saws and wrenches.

While men’s stuff is generally related to what I consider “self-focused” activities like fishing or welding something, I considered MY stuff to be “family-focused.” Yes, some women do collect shoes or handbags or jewelry but I’m referring to the “nesting” stuff, you know, those knick-knacks and decorative items that make a house a home.

But getting back to the future, I’ve heard many say about their stuff, “Oh, we’ll let the children deal with it.” I love my kids and I don’t want to do that to them. Well, maybe I’m more afraid they’ll be casting lots as to who gets stuck with something rather than who is lucky enough to get something.

I can hear them now, “Oh, Rob lives on acreage, let him haul that stuff out to his barn!” or “Mom wouldn’t like if we threw that away. Stacy, you have to keep that stuff!”

Frankly, I really don’t want to be looking down from on high as they take my name in vain over what to do with my collection of decorative Campbell Soup plates or my “Made in Occupied Japan” teacups and saucers acquired while antiquing in little towns like Navasota. For me they represent good memories, those times before my husband died and what I call my ‘other life.’ But for my kids, they have no sentimental value and are just stuff.

Trying to be considerate, I decided that each week I would dispose of some of my stuff. Yes, I actually put some stuff in the trash and out it went. That worked great the first week, but I missed the second. I’ll try to remember to do better this week but in the event I don’t, I created a diversion for when the final cleanup day arrives.

I am placing copies of this column in strategic places in my house. This way they’ll know I was thinking about them, that I had really good intentions and maybe, just maybe, it will guilt them out of complaining! Afterall, in the end it’s just stuff.

Connie Clements is a freelance reporter and award-winning columnist. She writes feature news articles on a weekly basis and an opinion column as the mood strikes her.