I can't say that I was ever a pack-rat, we just weren't raised that way. We moved so much, and when the next move came along, my father would bring a cardboard box into each of our rooms and whatever didn't fit, didn't go. I learned to choose very wisely.

In adulthood, I never really caught on to 'stuff', partly because I hate dust, and mostly because I hate dusting. The keepsakes I have are small, and functional. Every time I use them I remember where and who they came from. The spirit of the 'thing'. I always imagined keepsakes so lonely just sitting in a hutch somewhere, not being used for their purpose because they might break, or rust, or fade. My 'things' are used and abused, and when they go, they are gone, but at least they will have lived.

I have a teapot that my mother painted for my grandmother (her mother-in-law). The two of them used to have Sunday tea together when I was young. I remember the two of them sitting together, drinking tea and talking. A few years after my mother died, my grandmother gave the pot to me. It is chipped and dinged up, too many cupfuls have passed through that spout to be otherwise, but it gets warmed every time I have friends over to visit and sit round for a chat, and I remember two friends who met through the sad coincidence of a marriage and shared a cuppa.

I have my grandfather's shotgun. He taught me how to shoot, and when he died, I asked my grandmother for it. I don't shoot things, as a rule, but when I have to, it is with a little bit of him beside me. Example? The last time I had to use the gun was just a few days ago. There was a deer on my property that was severely injured and needed to be killed. I was a wreck for having to do it, but having that little bit of solid matter in my hands, with the same worn spots where my grandfather's hands had been, it made me feel so 'not alone' while doing a very ugly thing.

I also have bowls from all of the great women in my life. That drives my family nuts. (If someone offers you a set of dishes, you should take all of the dishes and not just one bowl) Each one has a particular story, and a particular use. The blue one from Aunt Eileen, it is perfect for cutting shortening into pie crust. Every pie I make, I think of her and her lusty life. The flowered one from Dulce is perfect and balanced, just like her, and makes bread dough rise like magic. My personal favourite is a hideous glass thing from my ex-husband's Aunt Shirley. I only met her once (she was pretty hideous too) and she died well before my ex had ever asked me to marry him, yet shortly after we were married, one of his other aunts gave us this gift. The glass bowl, with a handwritten note from Aunt Shirley, telling us (by name) to be happy in our lives together. We looked at each other in pure horror, the gift from beyond the grave, then burst out laughing. When he and I broke up, I told him, I HAD to have the 'Dead Aunt Shirley Bowl' as it had come to be called. He consented. Now I use it mostly for fruit and nuts.

What I will leave? Who knows. Whatever is left, I guess. I just hope that whoever takes it, does so because they want to use it and think of me too.