Stuff

C has a short, reddish tint, yellow lab hair taped to her laptop computer; a hair that belonged to Sancho, our biggest lover, with the softest coat, dearly departed ex-guide dog (member of our family) pup.

I have an old flip top, a small wooden treasure chest (toy). It’s a toy, keepsake box that my Grandma and Grandpa gave to me when I was, I don’t know how old. Single digits, young.

I have a sturdy (some sort of durable sports fabric) black turtleneck with a picture of a shark racing down a snowy slope. It’s a ski turtleneck that my Mom bought for me so many years ago. Probably early 1980 something.

I wore it when I went skiing in the 80s and 90s. And today, when it gets cold here, I pull it on, over the top of my head, first thing every morning before I step outside with our boys (dogs) so they can “do their stuff” and I can breathe some cold mountain air.

I have (I think it’s a Dickies brand) olive green button up collar work shirt that belonged to my Dad. My Dad worked in a warehouse. He drove a lift truck. My Dad WAS a hard worker.

A few days ago, I put on my Dad’s old work shirt. It’s rare, but I did some “man’s work”. I assembled a sturdy wire storage rack in our garage. “Manly work”, like my Dad used to do.

Scott doing “manly work”, I wore my Dad’s old work shirt while assembling a storage rack inside our garage.

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So what, right? Who cares?

It’s just “stuff”. Old stuff.

Yeah… I know. It’s just stuff. It is old stuff.

But not to me.

I CARE.

It’s not just old stuff to me.

The people and the pets, they’re gone. And the most valuable things that I have, they are things that I can not hold in my hand.

Memories

But still, the stuff, THAT stuff,

A thing, or two, or three…

Something to hold on to. A trinket. A small treasure (chest). An item of clothing.

Some THING, to have and to hold (in my hand), to pull over my head, to button up, or to work with (a tool, an old wrench or maybe a paintbrush).

Some THING to have and to hold and to help me remember. To honor all those that we loved.

Some THING to keep the fire burning and the love alive.

Some stuff is more than “just stuff”.

Take what you need. Take what you want.

Hold on to it tight.

More than stuff.

A little piece of - - - love.

To have, and to hold, and to - - - remember. To be remembered.

Things that mean more,

more than just -

“stuff”.

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PHOTO:

The toy treasure chest that my Grandma and Grandpa gave me all those years back.

It used to sit atop my bed, headboard on the top floor of the house I grew up in, in the bedroom I shared with my big brother, Ned.

It stayed home for college, but it traveled with me to Connecticut and then Florida and here to the western most tip of Texas.

A piece of stuff that I treasure. A gift from and still a warm link (a physical “hotlink” if you will) to my long departed Grandma and Grandpa.

And next to that old stuff, treasure chest, two Mexican character marionettes.

My Grandparents also gave same, but not these exact ones to me as a gift from their travels. They went to visit my Aunt and Uncle in Texas and I think they went down to Mexico while they were there.

I wrote something about the marionettes that I used to enjoy, putting on shows for my Mom and Dad and neighborhood kids, in an earlier piece. Something I wrote.

My Uncle saw my words and sent me duplicates that sat in his house, north of Dallas.

A kind gift. A loop back to my Grandma and my Grandpa via my Uncle.

Not worth any $$$. Nothing financially significant.

They’re worth more than that.

Little pieces of love.

“Stuff” to help me - - - remember.