RINGS ON A SKELETON

   If you are a lover of ancient history--as I am--you may have seen numerous posts about the destruction of Pompeii and how it was buried in ash from the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, protecting houses, skeletons, streets, and so much more. As a granddaughter of a Classics Professor at Smith College (Thanks, William D. Gray!) I must have gotten my love of ruins through the titty, as the Brits would say. So, when I saw one photo in the excavation of Herculaneum of a woman's skeleton with beautiful rings on  her fingers--obviously put there in her flight from the volcano and ash raining down--I had to think deeply about this, and how it also pertains to me.

 

    There is something so damn poignant about those skeletal fingers wearing the beautiful golden and precious stone rings. What was this woman thinking of? Had she hoped to escape the coming catastrophe? Did she think those rings would follow her into daylight and a new, clean life? Who knows. The devastation wrought by the volcano's eruption on Pompeii and also Herculaneum, tells a dire story of fear, fleeing in hopes of escape, and people trying to ride out the cataclysm in their houses. Which always collapsed as we know.

    I feel for this unnamed woman, and I identify with her as a woman nearing 80 (say it ain't so!) who loves clothes and at least some jewelry. I did manage--kudos to me--to pass on my grandmother's engagement ring of a 1.3 carat diamond in a platinum setting to my dear daughter-in-law.  A noodgy voice inside told me, "Annie, it is time to let go of this ring you adore and pass it on to the next generation." This, mind you, being a ring my mom gave to me upon my engagement to Rick in August, 1966. So I had worn it faithfully, if not always carefully, for 59 years. 

When I went to Mass I always loved how the diamond sparkled in the overhead lights. It reminded me of continuity, how much I adored my Grandmother Gray, and how blessed I was to wear this beautiful ring for so long.

    Then, not withstanding catastrophes and bad health outcomes, there comes a time when we have to pass on our stuff, even though we love it. I admit to missing this ring when I go to Mass, mourning the cheery sparkle and reminder of my grandma. It is time, Annie girl, I told myself firmly, to start passing on and getting rid of my lares and penates. 

So I have cleaned out my entire file cabinet which held 50 years of my writing career in it: letters from beloved editors, printed out emails, early versions of so many books, notes scribbled on the sides of manuscripts, and much more. I managed to throw away most of it, only saving a few ms. and letters which were dear to me.

 

    While congratulating myself on this brave endeavor, I still have not finished going through the many, horrible, dusty, mouse-poop infested boxes from the attic containing YET more ms. from my past. What on earth was I thinking of not only to save them but to thrust them up into our horrifying attic? I think that woman trying to escape the catastrophe must be related to me on my mother's side. I have held on to too much throughout my life; have grasped at things, refusing to let go; and have probably thought in some corner of my  unfolding brain that having MORE meant I was more as well. It is a common failing, especially now in our country where accumulating more wealth and possessions seems to be the national anthem under Trump. Sigh.

    Here's a thought which may or may not resonate with you: form a group of like-minded, aging folks who also need to de-clutter and throw away a lifetime of stuff. 

Hold each other accountable. Check in weekly through texts or emails, sharing photos of the boxes of crap you are throwing away. We have a small group of friends called "Death Cab For Cutie," using the 90's  music group's name which would be perfect for this. We initially formed this group of 6, then 4, to talk about aging, end of life plans, and how we were doing with it all. But I think forming a group to help each other get rid of your STUFF, is a great idea.

    I still have things I must deal with: antiques from both sides of my family which need to be evaluated by a professional and sold; jewelry to pass on (not much and not valuable, thank God); and some artwork which may be valuable.

    My husband got a dumpster from a local guy which we filled up to the top over the early Fall.

 Seeing my empty file cabinet--my friend for 50 years--on top of the pile was both sad and rewarding. I patted myself on the shoulder, the good one that is. "Good job, Annie girl, you managed to unhook yourself from a lifetime of creative writing, teaching, and more. Good job, girl!" It's someone else's turn now.