Ah. Inheritence. My sister could not believe that I wanted nothing whatsoever from our parents' home — not *quite* true, because we had been quietly repositioning (as in, moving from IL to PA) items that Deb had a sentimental fondness for. But when it was time for the estate sale, Deb & I were already in "we need to get rid of stuff in retirement, not add more!" mode and all the small stuff had already made its way east in luggage bags. (Also, Deb suspected that my sister wanted us to take stuff because we have room in our place and she doesn't in hers, so at some point there would be phone calls and negotions and arrangements... 🙄)

At some point we'll be in SERIOUS rid-of-stuff mode, and I'll be looking at things like the lamp my father made in his high school shop class, and granddad's desk (beat all to hell by ten years of moves in the Navy), and the briefcase he gave me when I was an ensign (three years later: "It's in very good shape, I guess you didn't like it enough to use it much!" after I had been very careful to treat it like a prize), and the briefcase he gave me as a lieutenant (four years later: "It's pretty beat up, I guess you didn't like it enough to take care of it!" and if it hadn't had my stuff in it I would have pitched it into the river right then and there), and the "brass" ships clock for my birthday that turned out to be cheap plastic (with weights, "so you really can't tell") that stopped working after a few years. And I'll look and remember and sigh and add it to the pile for 1-800-GOT-JUNK.

So yes. Inheritence.

💚