You all should see the closet my Louie-Louie Lad is talking about. Actually it’s two closets and a pile of “stuff” … most of which he hasn’t touched since we moved into this house a hundred years ago.
Don’t get me wrong; I also have a pile, called a stash. Books enough to start a library and so much cross stitch sewing pieces it’ll take me a hundred years to do it all. But at least my stash is useable by anyone who comes along.
HIS stash … closet … pile … ‘things’ … is just about unusable ‘cause it is mostly made up of equipment that stopped being current about ten (fifteen?) years ago. He has resisted, as most Louie-Louie Lads do, any attempt to get him to … “ye gads, throw it all away?” … which was okay until he decided we had better downsize in case we decide to move to a smaller place. Hence, the closet …
And the bigger problem isn’t getting rid of equipment that no longer works, but trying to get him to hold onto tapes that are a record of his years on the radio and his writing and all the small bits and pieces that make up his life. I know, I know, we can’t even play the tapes. But someday our great granddaughter just might be able to and if we haven’t kept those tapes and papers, what’s she gonna do? They’re not just memories, they are pieces of who and what he is. And Cecelia is the kind of girl who will most definitely appreciate that.
So okay, throw the damned dual deck tape recorder out. But save Odetta and Tom Rush and Shrewsburies and dimes for Nightlighters Against Gutlessness and oh, please, Mouth vs. Ear.
That’s not stuff – that is you, my Louie-Louie Lad