George Carlin had a great routine about people and their “stuff”. In typical Carlin fashion, the joke made us question how much “stuff” we had and why we needed it. If you haven’t seen it, go to YouTube and watch “George Carlin Stuff”, it’s equally funny and thought-provoking.
I remembered the routine this week while watching people in my hometown climbing around a construction (or destruction) site of one of the town’s Firehouses (inset pic). They were collecting bricks as mementos of the fallen building that had 
been a landmark in Keyser for as many years as I can remember. I wondered out loud why anyone would want to keep a brick and my middle son (the sentimental one) had an explanation:”Mom, wouldn’t you want something to remember it by if your parents had both worked there and you had spent a lot of time there?”. ME: “No”. SON: “Wouldn’t you want a piece of the football field that your dad coached on for years if it were going to be torn up?”. ME: “No”. SON: (Insert bewildered face as he searches for how we could possibly be related). So I try to explain: “It’s just stuff, I don’t need stuff, I have the memory of the time and experience. Stuff is just stuff.” All of which makes me wonder, am I like “dead” inside? Has turning 40 somehow shut down my sentimental side? Should I want stuff? Have I lost the ability to care about reminders of events, people, experiences?
I don’t think so. And since I can still cry like a baby at a Hallmark commercial or even a Hallmark card, I’m fairly certain the sentimental/emotional side is still intact. A more thorough investigation of me on the inside reveals the truth: I’ve dealt with a lot of other people’s stuff and I’ve come to the realization that, in the end, it’s just something you have to sort through. If you’ve lost someone close to you and been assigned the job of distribution and removal of their “stuff”, you’ll agree that it is a difficult process but even more so when you run across something that doesn’t fit. Personal possessions like clothing, jewelry, furniture, these things are easy to deal with. It’s the news clippings, the programs, the yearbooks, and other objects that are a nightmare. When you are holding something that your grandmother has kept for 50+ years and you have no idea what it is, what it meant to her, or what it represents, what the heck do you do with it? It’s just “stuff”. To her it held some memory but now it’s just this mysterious brick.
I’m not condemning those that love to scrapbook or laminate their kid’s artwork. Collect whatever you like. Keep whatever brick you want if it makes you feel better. But remember, it’s just stuff. The Lesson from 40Something is to care more about sharing the memories and less about the stuff. The perfect photo album from your long awaited trip to Italy will eventually get tossed. Put the camera down, enjoy the day and don’t stress over having pictures to remember it by and be sure to tell the story to others, that’s what keeps the memory alive. In some cases, one picture is as good as 20.
Maybe I’m a cynic, but I don’t want the brick. I remember plenty of dances, banquets, and parties in that old firehouse. Just like I can tell the story of the hours I spent on the football field with my dad and in telling it feel the joy of recounting the details. Stuff is temporary. The story, the memory, the feeling, that’s the thing that stays with you and continues long after you’ve left your “stuff” behind.
Lessons from 40 Something 
But when your mom had Alzheimer’s and showing her the old pictures and stuff from her past sometimes let you have a moment together even though it was the past, you could share a few precious minutes until she asks if you had see her daughter Mary (me).
I completely understand Mary, and you’re right about that moment being so incredibly special. I think the story of that moment with your mom is something pretty important to pass down, too. Thanks!