This is a dialogue my husband and I keep having over his stuff and my stuff. We moved to Hawaii in 2002 and many of our “treasures” were packed in boxes and stored in a container on our farm. The container was cooked by the sun all day and then cooled by the night breezes coming off of Mauna Kea. (Think hot in the day then cool and wet at night.) Over the years many items rusted, art and cloth molded and my prized stuff Koala bear (which my mother had written me a story about) literally disintegrated in my hands one day. Things return to the earth very fast here. Someone just purchased the container and we are now trying to go through all these “treasures” and purge. Unfortunately, or fortunately, many of our treasurers have now been reduced to trash. Each day the conversation goes something like this:
Husband: I think this is trash.
Wife: Oh, I don’t know. I like it.
Husband: Yeah, but it’s been packed in this box for ten years now.
Wife: I know but I still like it.
Husband: You didn’t even know it was here.
Wife: Yeah, but now I remember why I kept it in the first place.
Husband: Well it smells like mildew.
Wife: I don’t care, we can air it out.
Husband: Look it’s falling apart.
Wife: Yeah, but I don’t think its trash.
Husband: I think we should get rid of it.
Wife: No, I’m not ready to give it up yet. I’ll put it in this box and we can move it into the garage.
Husband: Really? I think you should just throw it away.
Wife: I can’t there are too many memories attached.
Husband: But it is just stuff.
Wife: I know.
Husband: It owns you. You don’t own it.
Wife: I guess it will have to own me a little while longer.
Created: Jun 24, 2013Document Media