March 24, 2005
I write this not to dictate who should have what, for that is something the three of you can work out to your satisfaction. You have already inherited the best and the worst of your parent’s legacy when you got your father’s small nose and your mother’s wide feet. Now it’s your chance to pick and choose how my possessions will enhance or burden your life. Your homes without attics have no storage room for things we took from our parent’s attics and stored in ours like Dad’s Janesville coaster wagon. You’ll have to deal with junk dealers and buyers of antiques.
I don’t suppose anyone will want to take that great bowl I used to mix batter for your birthday cakes, for you in this enlightened age try to avoid butter, sugar and eggs.
I just hope you find a few surprises to make the job of cleaning up after me interesting.
One surprise might be the only thing that survived from my childhood, a silver souvenir spoon made with three Mexican coins one dated 1876. It’s wrapped in brown cloth in the back of the silverware drawer.
Blessings upon the one who chooses the books I cherished. And upon the one who takes charge of the family genealogy, and the one who finds Dad’s tools useful. An extra blessing on the one who wants nothing but helps you cart it all away.
One last request after you burn my journals and scrap-paper scribblings, take time to linger around the glowing embers to sing silly songs like we did on camping trips. Take a moment to recall how free life feels when reduced to the bare necessities. Remember the beauty in the wilderness.