If you don\u2019t want to ponder, move on to the Jokes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Spring isn’t due till later next month but I\u2019ve been thinking about cleaning up our garage already. I confess that I\u2019ve got pack rat in my DNA. I come from a family of Philippine pack rats. My grandmother owned a warehouse located a few blocks away from our home that was full of junk. She collected different colored wine and medicine bottles — red, cobalt, green and violet. There were rows of old leather shoes, boxes of Perla <\/em>laundry bar soap, Camay<\/em> body soap and stacks of old newspaper. To add to her addiction, she even ran a pawn shop littered with typewriters, accordions, xylophones, adding machines \u2013 just stuff! When you realize that she survived the ravages of the Spanish-American war and the Japanese occupation, it all makes sense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She was so thrifty that whenever anyone needed a new pair of slippers, she would repurpose old shoes — cut their sides and turn them into sandals. She even collected balls of string and wire that she picked up while walking in the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n THE FIRE<\/strong> Come daylight, we were told that grandma\u2019s ancestral Spanish-era home burned down to a crisp. Along with it burned her precious warehouse. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Sorting through the smouldering pile of ashes, I dug up her melted bottle collections. Surprisingly, some of the soap survived. Many were half burned. I remember washing my hands with half-sized bar soaps because grandma (true to form) cut out the burned portions and saved the good halves. She never rebuilt that warehouse \u2026 she started buying property instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n WORLDLY POSSESSIONS<\/strong>
My Mom woke us up in the middle of the night: \u201cWake up! Hurry! There\u2019s a fire!” Half asleep and wearing our pajamas, we walked a few blocks away to our cousin\u2019s house where we watched the flames rise high into the night. We had to close the windows because of the overpowering stench of smoke, burning wood and plastic. I could hear and see people who were like bees bustling about in a beehive — men were directing the exodus while others carried away their life possessions in boxes and bags. We could hear the sirens of the fire truck and the crackling sparks of the giant bonfire. It was a nightmare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We all know that we can\u2019t take our stuff with us when we die but, comparing the pile of stuff collected in our garage and my grandmother\u2019s warehouse, I can see the same pattern rekindled: In my garage, I see piles of old artwork, favorite VHS tapes my kids grew up with \u2026 my kids’ toys, my son’s basketballs and volleyballs, board games and drawers of business paperwork. How do I sort these out? Where do I draw the line between heirloom and fire-hazard junk? I have no inspired solutions. Do you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n