Free

 That's what the sign said: Free. I saw it as I was going past Nick's house. There was a lot more activity our front than usual. Most of the time when I would run past Nick's house, it would appear quiet and empty, unless he was headed out. Or in. Nick wasn't much for hanging out in the yard. But Nick's not there anymore. 

His tribe had descended on the place to reenact an episode of Hoarders. They were there to put order to the chaos that was home to a man who collected what a man collects over the course of fifty years in one spot. Tools. Parts of tools. Parts of machines that needed special tools to fix them. And ladders to reach the tools or machines that were in need of being fixed. 

My wife spied an extension ladder that she felt we might need, since we have, on occasion had to borrow one for our taller than average house. She paid Nick's estate twenty dollars for me to carry it away. On eht way out, she saw some other things that struck her fancy. Once we were back within the confines of our own yard, I reminded her that we were approaching the stage in our life when holding on to objects makes less and less sense. One need only take a quick peek at the saw horses and gas cans that sat out on the curb in front of Nick's house to make one wonder: What will I leave behind for my son to sort out?

I went through a version of this just recently when my mother passed away. Happily, my older brother had been working over the course of several years to pare down the trappings of her lifetime. Things that had been stowed away for decades and "might be useful one day" went away. Her piano, beloved though it was, became an albatross that was keeping her from getting around her home safely. Off it went on a trip to my front room, where I can figure out what to do with it for the rest of my life. And the flagstone coffee table. And the china. And the music books. Other prizes found a home. Sentimental pieces that reminded us from whence we came. 

And the rest of it? The Goodwill. Recycling. The landfill. Out. 

Someday, all those things that I figured were so valuable, so important, will be on the curb in front of my house. With a big sign that says "free." The value I assigned to those old Rolling Stone magazines and Planet of the Apes trading cards will be officially negotiable. Whatever you can carry, memories of a lifetime spent gathering. 

Time to let it go.