What the Meek Really Inherit

I've put off this topic long enough. It's time to meet it head-on with some hard-core musings. Subject #33 is "things passed down to me." Right away you're thinking, oh, inheritances! I wish. Where do we get off describing it as stuff handed DOWN anyway? That implies it came from above, and honestly, most of the stuff I've received has been a lateral move. Meaning the people aren't dead yet. The implication is they will die some day and you might as well take it now. The only thing (and by thing I mean a physical object) I've actually inherited so far is a desk, built by my grandfather and willed to me by my Uncle Ron. I believe he wanted me to have it, but at the same time, I remember agreeing to take it from the items available in his basement. It was sort of heavy and light pine. My grandpa hinged the top so you can actually remove it and fold it for easy transport. I sanded it and re-stained it a dark cherry, but it still has all the original hardware. I'm glad I have it because it reminds me of two people I loved dearly who are now on the other side. But it's hard to think of it as "passed down" considering it was brought up from a basement and taken further up into our loft (three flights). It's probably now closer to Ron than it is to me most days. I don't like to think about anybody dying, let alone what happens to their stuff afterwards. But my parents have been down-sizing a lot lately, even though I believe they are hundreds of years from passing. I don't know why they feel compelled to get rid of all their stuff now other than they're tired of staring at it or dusting it. For those reasons, I too might consider acting on my will while I'm still living. It's no fun to be willed something that doesn't exist anymore after the person passes. "Um, it says here you would have gotten the coin collection if he hadn't sold it on eBay because he didn't want to keep hanging onto it just for you until he died." If you hand stuff out while you're alive, you can see how much people appreciate it. My mom distributed her Christmas decorations cleverly at our last Christmas gathering. When I say last, I mean most recent. Not the last one forever and ever! But of course, the last one featuring my mom's Christmas decorations. She numbered them all with tags and then had an impromptu drawing. I drew numbers 3, 14 and 21. I got the wooden figurine ornaments, a small wreath and a stuffed snowman. I also voluntarily claimed three ceramic angels and a bubble blowing elephant. I'm sure I melted at the time and laid claim to a few more items that will emerge forevermore in my house at Christmas because I am too sentimental. I mean, I see a rubber Christmas tree with arms and legs and I just can't bear to let the little fella go. He matches the rubber reindeer on ice skates!! My mom is very practical. I imagined her thinking in her thick German accent, "Vee no longer need zees tings. Und aus! Macht schnell!"

I don't walk around expecting to inherit anything, really, but I am understandably surprised when stuff comes my way and I can actually call and thank the person. Maybe it's my German heritage. We don't like to keep stuff around too long. Just taking up space like that. Move it through! Give it to someone who can still use it. My aunts are over 70 and in recent years I have received a couple of treasures from them that have "me" written all over them. One is a giant blue vase that's almost as wide as it is tall that resembles a sea shell of sorts. This comes from Aunt Pat, my dear Godmother. The other is a t-shirt of a very fat expressionless cat that says "I Am Smiling." The t-shirt is framed. This comes from Aunt Gisela, from whom I may have inherited my sense of humor. I am content with these items and deeply appreciative. I find meaning in them and my sentimental side cringes when others upon first sight say, "Where the hell did you get that?!" I mean, hey, they're from my people for God's sake. Back off. I feel special. They thought of me! Never mind that weeks later, through the grapevine and a series of overheard remarks I learn that my sister once again scored the china. Aunt Gisela sent her china home with my parents to give to Tess. In the same car as my I Am Smiling framed t-shirt. My sister is hoarding china. Maybe through no fault of her own, but every time I turn around, whole sets of china are making their way to my sister either before death or after death or for all I know in someone's very last breath. "Please give my china....to.....Tessie....." Seconds later, "Please give....my fuzzy dice....to.....Susie..." Her basement has to be filled to the brim with china. She could have a dinner party for China. But I'm not complaining. At least I don't have to worry about giving it all away some day. If I were her I'd tag it all and hold a drawing next Thanksgiving...

The Chicken or The Egg

My recent trip to The Container Store was a revelation. Apparently, stuff made to hold other stuff is very popular. I wish I were more organized. People say I'm organized, but that's usually right after I've cleaned out my backpack at the airport and am able to quickly access a pen for the stranger in the seat next to me. If he'd been on the earlier leg of the trip and I didn't have a three-hour layover, the pen would have been covered in nacho cheese dorito dander and probably not functional. I think I have an organized mind. Like I know where stuff is in my brain and how to access it, even if some things are farther back on the shelf than others. But outwardly, when it comes to physical things I have and where they go, it's a bit of a crap shoot these days. Early in life, I was pretty good at having a place for everything and everything in its place. I was very particular about how things lined up on shelves and the color coordination of items in my closet. I used to carefully stack my Christmas presents as I received them, folding up the wrapping paper for possible re-use. I loved Legos. I would play Tetris for days at a time. I loved solving puzzles. All of these things suggest I enjoy order and the satisfaction of finding an exact fit for something loose. Let me just tell you how things have changed. My desk at work is a great example of my new "if I can't see it I won't remember it and it no longer exists" approach to organization. It is a clear sign I have crossed the 40 mark. I am actually afraid to file. That's why all of my files are stacked on my desk or on the floor to my right. I'm even more afraid to go through these files and eliminate what may no longer be needed. What if I still need it?! Like these handwritten notes from 2005 listing what I needed to do on Tuesday (no known month or date). Did I call the plumber? Did I pick up cat litter? These are in the margin of notes from a meeting about IP addresses. This folder is labeled I.T. Better hang onto it a little longer. Just move it to the bottom of the pile. Other stuff I'm staring at right now on my desk: two empty milk chug bottles, three empty water cooler cups, a small 20GB flash drive, a Sharpie, two business cards - one is a new dentist I've been meaning to call for four months, the other is fellow comedienne Chantal Carrere's - a cute picture of Meg, a Bliss card that says "How beautiful it is to be alive!" by Henry Septimus Sutton (I'm gonna Google that guy), a rolodex with Kirsta Grapentine's business card up, my office phone, my Bad Cat calendar, a rubber tree frog, a box of mini-dv tapes for a camera I no longer have, a box of business cards, post-its that say "Oh, Boo-Frickin'-Hoo Have a Cocktail and Get Over It," Burt's Bees chapstick, a second Sharpie, an automatic pencil sans lead, a pen, three grow your own tree kits, a lined notepad on top of a clipboard, an LPGA ball marker, a third Sharpie, mints, two golf booklets by Cindy and Allen Miller written in 1990, Norwegian coins, a tape dispenser, my cell phone, a James Brandess mouse pad and of course, my laptop. How big is my desk, you ask? I guess too big. If I felt encroached upon, maybe I would put some of this crap away. But then I would wonder where I put it. I think it comes down to labeling. I've thought about it over the years, and while I would thoroughly enjoy getting containers and drawers and cabinets and see-through boxes and an entire wall of shelves for three-ring binders and photo boxes and pencil boxes and CD/DVD towers and little bowls for stray coins and paper clips, I am horrified by having to categorize. I'm really good at contents. I can tell you what each individual thing is and what it means to me. But if you want me to group these things together so they can go in the same box with a lid on it and then you want me to write in one word what's in there...we could be here a while. As you might imagine, moving is torture for me. Well, normal moving, I should say. The kind of moving where you put all the stuff from the kitchen in several boxes, wrapped neatly for a safe journey. Maybe you take a polaroid of the dishes before you put them in the box and then you tape the picture to the outside of that box. It takes freakin' forever and the light's never right for the photos and some of the boxes are only half full cuz all the stuff from just that one room doesn't fit together. My kind of moving is torture for others. I start out great - the first few boxes actually have things from the same room in them. Then I branch out because I'm more concerned with how stuff FITS in the box then whether or not it relates to anything else in the box. You'd be surprised how perfectly full you can make a box when you have the entire house to pull from. I usually forget to take the picture until the box is either A.) full, at which time I take a picture of the open box and what's on top, or B.) taped up, at which time I take a picture of the taped up box and tape the picture to the box to remind me that there's stuff in there from everywhere and I should just open it to find out what! And all of the boxes follow my simple labeling system of what room the stuff mostly came from, which is helpful when re-distributing the boxes on the other side. Helpful if you are moving from, say a dorm room to a dorm room (all boxes say dorm room). Not so much if you are moving from a dorm room to a house (all boxes say dorm room). I think I can be good at labels. And I can be good at filling boxes. But not at the same time. I excel at either one or the other at any given moment. Right now I can think of several good labels. Office Supplies. Printer Cartridges. Sharpies. But the box for the Sharpies is too big. So I'll throw in some paper clips, pens, blank disks and two lanyards I just found in a drawer to top it off. Now I need a new label. Office Supplies? But not all my supplies are gonna fit in there, so I'm gonna need a bigger box. Then I'll have to change my Sharpie box to something else. I think my approach to organization is a lot like my approach to writing. I can come up with really good titles all day long. But heaven forbid if I should actually write the book or screenplay behind the title. Conversely, I have written numerous chapters for books and scenes from movies or plays that have no title. Collectively, I have organizer's block AND writer's block. I am just one big Chinese finger puzzle. Someone needs to pour me a cocktail so I can get over it. And figure out which comes first: category or content? the label or the box?!