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A Word about “Stuff”

A Word about “Stuff”

This is the house in which I grew up.  It was a great house on a 100-acre farm in East Tennessee.  It was built in the 1830s (pre-Civil War) with bricks that were made by hand on the premises.  The interior and exterior walls were 18 inches thick.  This picture conjures up a world of memories and wonderful feelings of fun, exploration, warmth, safety and love!


It was a true financial stretch for my parents when they bought my “old home place,” but they did it and lived there for more than forty-five years.

When it was time for them to move into their duplex, it was necessary to do some serious downsizing.  Over the years, they had collected a house-full of beautiful furnishings, many of which were antiques consistent with the era in which the house had been built.

My sister, brother and I were given the opportunity to select the pieces we wanted and could use.  Then, they contracted with an auctioneer to come to the property and sell what remained.

On the day of the auction, I thought about my parents and that a lifetime of their belongings were being sold to strangers!  I called, mom answered and I asked, “What are you doing?”  She said quite simply, “We’re sitting on the front porch drinking our sweet tea.”  I said, “Mom, are you and dad all right?”

She replied as if that was the silliest question she had heard all day, “Of course.  Why wouldn’t we be?”  I said, “How does it feel when all your stuff is being taken out to the back yard, sold and hauled off by people you don’t even know?”

Her reply?

 “It’s just stuff!”

Over the years, I have learned many, many valuable and life-changing lessons from my parents’ words and deeds, but I’m not sure there has ever been a lesson that is more important than the one my mother taught me that day:

“It’s just stuff!”

Thanks, Mom!

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