A post from Lileks with which I can strongly identify:
…what of the objects? You know, the things to which you apply Meaning simply by owning them for a while? That’s another issue. You have to realize that the meaning changes when you no long own them, which is a kind way of saying “it’s wiped clean when you die, mate.” There are some things whose previous meaning I can infer; my Grandma had a little metal container for pins, with 1893 Columbian Exposition engraved on the cover. It was regarded as junk, I guess, but my mom kept it, and then it passed to me. It’s possible my great-grandfather went. He got out of town from time to time. The fact that it sat on her dresser for seven decades was enough to infuse it with meaning, but that’ll be lost after me; daughter didn’t know her, never saw the farm, never saw the sleek 30s Sears bedroom-set dresser on which it sat. Daughter may see a corner of that dresser in an old photo, because I inherited it. But that’s the end of the chain – after that, it’s a series of facts, not a sequence of memories and emotions.
I’m a pack rat. I keep (and don’t organize) too much stuff. Every time we move, the books are a problem. We’ve been back in California over a year, and they’re still not quite unpacked and shelved. And movers charge by weight. I’m not sure what we would have done if the company hadn’t paid for the move. And I know that there’s not enough time in my allotment, sans dramatic life extension, for me to reread them. But I can’t bring myself (so far) to get rid of them. They contain too many remembrances. Accumulated stuff is the external memory of life, and I feel as though they’re a part of me and my sense of self. When I lose old email in a disk crash I feel partly lobotomized and amnesiac. At some point, though, I have to rationalize my possessions.
I had dinner with Leonard David Wednesday night, and we often talk about his collection of tchochkes and media bags that he has collected over the many dozens of space conferences he’s attended over the past few decades. They’re historically significant, and I doubt there are many people with as extensive a collection as his, but where to keep them all? I have the same problem, on a smaller scale. Someone needs to set up an archive to which such things can be contributed, assessed and put into context, but it takes money.
I big burden for me was just papers. I have the older version of the Fujitsu ScanSnap S1500M scanner, and I’ve shoved 80,000 sheets of paper through it (or so). That’s a literal wall of paper. The software makes them “searchable PDFs” by embedding the OCRed text into the same PDF file. So the only papers I have anymore are those papers where the signature, seal, or memory of the paper itself is of any value.
I keep things if they can fit in a dresser drawer, and that’s it. Everything else is either functional or its goes. Too easy to collect too much stuff any other way.
I was well on my way to becoming a severe book collector though, before electronic media came along. Few. Movers charge by weight, but I can throw my Kindle in my carry-on.
I’ve been giving away my accumulated space stuff to people who want or could use it. I’ve kept things that I worked on, the hands-on bits of hardware and such, but all of the paper is almost gone. During the (very tedious) scanning the library of a retired engineer who worked at Dryden on a number of X projects, I discovered most of his papers and reports were on line on various sites, so they are now downloaded and archived electronically in a couple of places. A strong EMP and they’re gone but it comes down to storage space and how easy it is to search a pdf or doc. And my SF books, well, the ones signed to me I keep. The important ones, out of print or extras to give away to people who Really Need To Read This, I have kept. All else is gone or going. I guess a bit flipped and I’m tired of maintaining a museum without a museum’s budget or staff. 🙂
My mind has turned to this sort of thing recently, as I lost my dad just a month or so ago, and we’re still in the process of dividing up his stuff amongst me and my siblings. Dad was a pack rat, maybe even what you’d call a bit of a hoarder. Amazing how when he was still with us, his stuff seemed so essential to who he was, but as I cleaned out the shed the day after the funeral, suddenly it was all just stuff. Part of me runs through the mental catalogue of all the little treasures he kept over the years, trying to decide which items best represent his memory to my senses, which ones I need to keep to remember him by, but the more I think about it, the less it becomes important to me. He’s gone. The stuff remains. The stuff is not him.
I finally gave away my collection of magazines dating from the early days of the space program into the 90s. The Wings Over the Rockies Museum/Library agreed to take them last year. I may donate some of my book collection to them as well.
Having become a dedicated Kindle user, I may start parting with old novels (mostly paperback) in an effort to make it possible to downsize in the future.
movers charge by weight
One word: “UPack.”
tx, same here. My dad wasn’t so much a pack rat, but he was a voracious reader and had a lot of books, many from his childhood and earlier (some from my grandfathers childhood). Like fraternity books with pictures and bio’s of my grandfather and his brothers. Much of his library we donated to the VA, but the ones I couldn’t give up are still in boxes in the basement. It’s been 8 months now and I find their importance to me is already fading. It saddens me in way, but I guess it’s natural.
Regarding stuff from loved ones that have passed on: In the last 10 years I’ve had my mom, a best buddy, and two very close brothers. A lot of their stuff ended up with me and I’m starting to get rid of it. I read somewhere that when a loved one dies, don’t keep anything that doesn’t bring you great joy, and I have come to believe that this is a great wisdom.
It’s just stuff you don’t really need or want, and it serves no purpose whatsoever. As txhsdad said so well, the stuff is not them.
After moving umpteen times in the past ten years, I’ve gradually shed most of my belongings. I finally had nothing left but what could be fit into my car (a Toyota Tercel). I even gave away most of my books. (None of them were valuable or out of print so big deal.) Then I moved to Virginia, and was introduced to the Green Valley Book Fair.
Oh hell.
I saw Leonard’s collection. Quite impressive. One concern he had when I spoke with him was a fire taking it all out.
In the last couple years I had an exercise with my brothers of going through all the stuff in my parents’ house. Most of the stuff went at an estate auction, but we kept some memories and a desire to not make my kids go through the same thing.
thxsdad, my advice is if you have the option, don’t do anything radical for a year. We planned to auction the house until it came close to the time to make the final call, and my brother decided to buy it. I was quite happy.
My brother and mother had to supervise me when I went through my books.
“What about that one?” a book covered in dust, “It’s a good book!” I would say, “have you read it?” “Yeah but it’s a good book.” “In the box.”
But, my loss is my libraries gain. I kinda don’t think about it much anymore.
I don’t have much stuff, but I try to take care of it. I had a laundry bag that I kept for about 16 years. My brother borrowed it and lost it in one day. My greatest sadness is losing photos of old friends. Everything else can be replaced.