Stuff is just stuff

I was born and raised in Las Vegas. My parents lived in the same house from long before I was born until my mother finally sold it when I was in my late 20's. Being "Depression Era" children, my folks believed that Things = Success. We had a beautiful home full of knickknacks, trophies, furniture and art. My brother and I had so many toys that they built another room onto the house and called it the Play Room. 

When I left home at the age of 18, all of my things came with me. I had become attached to my "stuff", so each move (and I moved a lot!) involved a full U-Haul truck and several smaller trips with my car and whichever friend's truck I could borrow. Each new place (did I mention that I liked to move.. often?) meant weeks of packing and unpacking. 

Then I moved to San Francisco and met Donovan. Donovan, who had followed the Grateful Dead from the East Coast. Donovan who wanted me to travel the country with him, living out of a VW bus and feeding ourselves with the money we would earn from selling jewelry on the side of the road. 

I remember the shock and awe I felt and the way I sounded a bit like Fran Drescher from "The Nanny" as I cried, "but my STUFF?! What about my stuff? What would I do with my furniture and my bottle collection and my figurines and my books and.. and... and.. all my stuff?!"  Donovan looked at me very calmly and said, "Stuff is just stuff. You can always get new stuff. It's everywhere."

Well, Donovan left and I stayed. Ironically, a few months later, I ended up leaving San Francisco and moved to Alaska with only what would fit in a back pack. I left all of the other stuff behind. And, you know what? He was right. I got more stuff. 

In fact, after Alaska, I moved several more times. To Florida and back to Alaska. To Vegas and back to Alaska. Back to Vegas and then to Colorado before returning to Alaska. To the Adirondacks, Wisconsin, Florida and then back to the Adirondacks. 

Each time, I would let go of stuff and get new stuff. Most of the items I took with me in those moves were my daughter's things. 
It's a little different with a child. It was important for her to have some stability (considering the Gypsy mom she'd been given) so I would take her furniture and her toys with us wherever we went. 

Moving had now become a great and grand Yard Sale before packing and it took much less time to unpack and set up when we arrived at the new place. 

And now... here I am. My daughter turns 18 next month and heads out on her own. I no longer need to carry her stuff for her. 

So, I walked around my home and gathered the items that truly matter to me. The "stuff" that cannot be replaced. Books that my friends wrote and autographed for me. The DVD of  a wedding. CDs that were recorded by people I love. Art and photographs that touch places in my heart. The clock my father got when he hit a hole-in-one on the golf course of the Tropicana Country Club. The step stool I found at a flea market that is exactly like the one I had as a child. My little box of treasures (Note: fridge magnet collection is much more portable than wine bottle collection)

This is the "stuff" that is more than just stuff to me. These are the things that mean more than just something that takes up space on a shelf or floor. These are items that make my soul smile.

This is what will be packed and shipped to Oregon so that once I find my place, they will be part of it. 

Along with whatever new "stuff" I acquire.