The Butcher demanded that I take a picture of his room so that y’all can see how clean it is. I wanted to take a picture of the dresser that he and my dad refinished, the one with the marble top that about killed me when I was a toddler.
But then I started to get depressed about how much stuff we have handed down through the years and how I’ve got no one to leave it to.
I know that having someone to leave your shit to is a bad reason to have kids, but who else is going to care that that’s the dresser that went out to Oklahoma and back on the Conestoga wagon and later fell over on me when I was trying to climb it and later turned out to be incredibly beautiful when the Butcher and my dad fixed it up?
It just made me a little sad.
And I couldn’t find the camera. Which I just now remembered is in my bag.
Oops.
Tiny Cat Pants 
I know the feeling. I have a pocket watch orignally purchased by my great great grandfather in 1903 that has been passed down to me (it has his name engraved inside it which is incidentally my name albeit with one letter changed). I would like to leave it to my child one day, but who knows if I’ll eve have a child to leave it to.
What about your sweet nephews? They love their Aunt B, and I’d think that once they get grown, anything that was significant to you and their grandpa would be important to at least one of them. There’s always one in each generation who’s up on the family history stuff, so maybe one of them will be. Start grooming them now. They’d get a BIG kick out of the Conestoga wagon tale, I betcha.
I think Baby Fishmouth is already slightly alarmed at the stuff she’ll heir from me. She can sell whatever she wants, though, except Granny’s dishes, Great-Granny’s charcoal sketches, and Great-Great Granny’s clock, along with Granddaddy’s shotgun, Great-Granddaddy’s kitchen table, and Great-Great Granddaddy’s desk. (Crap, I think I just furnished her house.)
Me, personally, I’m cultivating my nieces and nephews as targets for my things with meaning.
I’ve noticed over the years that having kids is not really a guarantee of having your life and things appreciated.
My grandmother on the one side had 4 adopted children and one birth child. Out of those kids, only 2 really treasure anything that she treasured.
My grandmother on the other side has 3 kids, but none of them will take her in to live with them, and the beloved son who is the apple of her eye is ashamed of her, rarely visits and doesn’t care one jot for any of the physical things she treasures.
One way or another you’ll find someone in your life who cares. It may not be via the usual means, but he or she WILL be there. Of that I’m certain.
You tickle the shit out of me, B. You’re still quite young, so lets not fret over who gets your stuff when you kick off. Tell you what, I’ll take the dresser, and tell the story how crazy old Aunt B ….
I love my nephews, but I try not to let myself imagine a future with them, just to protect my heart. If they get to 18 in one piece, I’ll redream, for sure.
Mack, Mack, Mack. I roll my eyes at you, for sure.