Pointless Random Stuff

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Before driving home yesterday from Salt Lake City, I paid a visit to my paternal grandmother. She made an interesting point that has been much on my mind since then. The funeral has been stretched out longer than she might like to allow family to gather who are currently on vacation, and she finds herself working as best she can to put things behind her so she can move forward.

One of her greatest encumbrances is all the 'stuff' that has accumulated. While she spoke glowingly and with fond memories of the couch on which I sat which was purchased by her parents about 90 years ago, most of the stuff seems to be in the way. At 86, my grandmother is not physically capable of moving anything, not even small boxes, and she can't find certain things that she needs, like grandpa's checkbook. If I were the same build as grandpa, she might have offered me a coat right then and there just so as to be rid of one more thing.

She said something that stuck with me. "John has everything that's worth having with him now. I'm stuck with all this stuff". Most of what we have is really just pointless random stuff. Sure, the scrapbooks and a few pieces of scrimshaw will persist a few more generations, particularly parts in which I am personally interested, but much of the stuff isn't likely to interest most of my extended family as the decor screams 1920-1930, and since most people don't read the kind of books that interested grandpa or have better tools than he had. Stuff that meant something to him means nothing to those who remain or painful things to some.

Grandpa has with him all that really matters. He took with him the only things that any person can and left behind the only things that most people do. Grandpa wasn't a big whig or power player or a member of the Good Old Boy Network. He was just an ordinary man, but he was a man, and the best parts of him are in his descendants, people like me, who remember his example and live like he taught us. We sat for a while and reminisced about a great man and his life's message, and I was very very glad that I braved 4.5 hours in snow to drive the 450 miles to visit her.

When I arrived back at my place last night, I observed how much quisquilia I already own. I already have plenty of pointless random stuff. Some of it is there for the daily minutia, to accomplish the responsibilities and goals and activities I have, but I have plenty of jejune junk. Someone will have to deal with it when I die. If I die alone, it will probably all go straight into the trash.

Perhaps this is why, as we age, we don't really ask for or need much for our birthdays. For years, I have simply kept a list of things I intend to buy anyway and offered it. That way, I don't end up with a lot of things I don't need that others can ill afford to purchase. My grandmother was probably most grateful that I gave her the gift of my time when I came to visit, because that is something I cannot recouperate. A while back, I wrote about how important it is to pass things on to people we love while they are around to hear it. So, during my visit, I hugged my grandmother tightly and told her how much I appreciated her. Our significant others like to hear why they are significant to us.

The opportunity passed to do so for my grandfather. At least I got to speak with him on the phone Tuesday night when I called to arrange to visit them while I was in Salt Lake City. Not many people get to speak to their loved ones that close to their mortal metriculation. So, thank you Mr. Alexander Bell for the telephone and Mr. Henry Ford for the automobile, both of which made this likely, and to Mr. Brandon Mull, whose performance group gave me cause to travel to Salt Lake in the first place. It seemed like pointless random stuff, but I got to talk to my grandfather just a few days before he died, and that from an entire state away. Thank you God, for inspiring me to make this trip so that I could speak to them at least one last time. That meant something to all of us, and it's something I will take with me wherever I go.