Stuff

Our basement is a nightmare, an undeniable unorganized chaotic fire trap of stuff accumulated over decades, most of it H's. She leaves town for a couple weeks, during which I am determined to get a handle on downsizing and at the very least take are of my ten percent of this mess and maybe organize the rest a little, into areas I think should be given to Goodwill, sold, or whatever. It will be a challenge to say the least but a hell of a lot easier to do alone. So now is the time. Now or never, for this summer.

I remember a surreal time when I owned little stuff -- and didn't have a key to my name. I was on the flight west after the breakup of my marriage, traveling light, and I realized, Deemer, you do not own a single key! No house key, car key, locker key, chest key, nothing! I couldn't remember never owning a key. It was an unsettling experience, actually.

I confessed this to my best buddy Dick, who was putting me up, and at dinner the second night I was presented with a wrapped present. I unwrapped it and opened a small box that rattled -- a key ring with a dozen keys! They had gathered up all their unknown keys to give to me. Now I owned keys again. I felt relieved.

It would be a few more months before I owned a key that actually unlocked something.