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A couple on Freecycle asked for bar stools and I had three of them. I had two in the attic with cushions that they took and still have one plain wooden one in the basement. I accumulated them over the years by scavenging trash pickup day in the notion I would use them for a man-cave bar or a living-space attic room, and it was harder than I thought to divest myself of them.

Even if I set up such spaces, they might not be my choice of seating, but it would have been nice. My comfort is in their being put to actual use — seating for the elderly in a usually standing choir — rather than a potential future. But I realize though this small experience that I really do cherish physical things in a personal way, and I think that’s okay.

I have a personal connection to objects and places. Just recently we found most of my childhood stuffed animals and have them in our bedroom. It’s been so long since I’ve been around them, but I’m not sure how I feel. I usually imagine them being in a playroom for my someday-grandchildren. They still don’t seem to be put to “use”, as even Alb3rt has been on sabbatical most of the time the last few years. And I still want to find a home for my mad-scientist lab stuff in the attic.

In the basement, at least I use the old tools. I hardly need them all, but there is a pride and comfort in having a peg-board wall full of them. Each time I need a screwdriver, I have a selection of similar choices and pickup up any of them feels like reading out to an old friend. Each one has a story in it, even if it was lifetimes of previous owners. The new ones are special as “mine” and I feel I’m doing more than building with them. It’s like I’m writing a new story. And that story someday could be passed on to someone else to add their own chapters as I gave extra life to garage-sale and inherited items.

It’s strange that I will miss the bar stools. I only used them a few times, but they were pieces of a puzzle, MY puzzle, recollections of the past and imaginings of the future. It’s strange to me that I would have such temporal attachments, and makes me wonder if I should divest myself of nearly everything as a spiritual necessity. Or maybe that’s what makes me, me — my love for all beings and places and things.