Stuffed

A few months ago, I watched a documentary series that discussed stuff and how humans relate to it. The brilliant comedian George Carlin penned a hilarious monologue about stuff. These two performances have been very much in the forefront of my mind over the last several days, and I would not presume to imagine that I could draw observations that are any more pertinent or humorous than those supplied by the experts. Nonetheless, I am compelled to lighten my psychic load by dumping a few conclusions on my audience.

1) Stuff abhors a vacuum.
And by vacuum, I mean the academic definition of empty space as well as the household appliance, the latter particularly when the former is an attic. This is a frightening theorem, considering the size of the Victorian house my mother has lived in for the last 30 years. I had always thought it was a shame that the foundation had been lowered in the 1950's to improve the chances of the house withstanding a major earthquake, but now I am immensely grateful that the basement is not one cubic inch larger than it is, for that cubic inch would be filled with stuff.

2) The stuff of freedom.
Aside from children or ailing parents, mass quantities of stuff is one of the most insidious thieves of personal liberty, especially when it comes time to move house. However, it is amazing the stuff people will take as long as it is free.

3) Other people's stuff.
It is a simple pleasure to sift through the detritus of someone else's life, to handle and ponder mysterious objects, to experience reminiscence at reminders of things that have been misplaced in one's own history. In fact, it is so much fun, that as we began to empty the basement, we recruited several people from the neighborhood who were so enthralled by our activity, that they volunteered the services to help sort and sift the stuff.

All right. Enough stuff.

Except we haven't even opened the garage yet...