For better or worse, I am a pragmatist who finds little sentimental value in most material things. The older I get, the less I seem to want. I try to live by this credo: If you don’t need it, recycle, donate, or throw it away.
I realize that other people feel differently, including some of my closest loved ones. My husband and twin brother, for example, are lifelong collectors. Acquiring material objects – not out of necessity, but out of interest and desire – makes them happy.
From time to time, our differences come into stark relief, and I am forced to reexamine my thinking.
Recently, in spending time with my brother, I was reminded that some things are worth keeping, even if you can’t use them. They provide intangible benefits beyond the practical aspects of life.
The Material Convoy
An entire area of academic research called “consumption studies” has developed around people’s attachment to the things they collect, save, store, and carry with them through life.
Gerontologists draw on this research to explain the many challenges of downsizing as we get older. They note that, while many of us “literally bear a material convoy from cradle to grave and from place to place,” some of us also have complex “affective and affirmative transactions with [our] things, if only imaginatively” (“Confronting the Material Convoy in Later Life,” 2011).
My husband, whom I have written about before (“Balancing the Past, the Present, and the Future,” “Making Room for the Future”), enjoys these complex transactions. Tim is 68 and has been collecting antiques for over 50 years.
Specifically, he collects old telephones from the early to mid 1900’s – candlestick phones, desk phones, pay phones, wall phones and the paraphernalia that goes with them (attachments, notebooks, advertising, signs). Tim owns hundreds of telephones.
He likes the way they look, how they were made, and the lifestyles and time periods they represent. He likes imagining what they have “lived” through: wars, industrialization, economic depressions, massive social change, and technological advancements, as well as life in the homes, businesses, and public places where they were used.
Tim’s collectibles link him to his own past, too, especially young adulthood and the middle years when he collected most avidly and rejoiced in every item he carried lovingly into the house.
My Brother’s Collection
My brother Richard, a lifelong car enthusiast, collects old cars, car parts, and other items related to American automobiles built from the 1920’s through the 1960’s. He has a large pole barn on his rural property where he has restored many cars over the years.
Rich’s garage walls are covered with old license plates, gas station signs, and advertising related to automobiles. Producers from the television series American Pickers have contacted him twice to be featured on the show, but he has declined. He has no interest in showcasing his private collection.
Rich loves his things and also appreciates their value. Unlike other kinds of collectibles, his have increased in worth over time. If he needs to supplement his retirement income, he can sell anything he has for a sizeable profit.
There are a few things, though, that my brother keeps for purely sentimental reasons. I recently spent a couple of weeks with him after he was hospitalized for a serious illness, and I realized, for the first time, that I could be a little more like him in this way.
My Father’s Things
My father was a quiet man who did manual labor all his life. He had simple tastes and didn’t want much in the way of material things. In his spare time, he went fishing, watched Michigan Outdoors on television, and read the National Geographic. He often sat in a boat on Sunday mornings — his form of devotion. His favorite bird was the blue heron, an accomplished fisherman.
Dad and Rich were very close. They had a bond that the other three kids didn’t share. When Dad died in 1994 at the age of 78, Rich was devastated.
But in the weeks following Dad’s death, Rich received several comforting messages that inspired him. Dad appeared to him in a vivid dream, laughing and dancing, happier than he’d ever been on earth.
In his waking hours, Rich was visited by blue herons. One appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road, requiring him to stop the car and pay attention. The heron stood tall and calm, looking directly at him. For a while, a blue heron took up residence in the pond behind his house. This had never happened before.
Rich took these signs to mean that death might not be such a bad thing. In fact, on the other side of the life we know here, there may be something better.
A Warm Embrace
Rich told me these stories last month while I was taking care of him. The week before, he had gone into near-fatal septic shock, which occasioned an ambulance ride, two days in intensive care, and five days in the hospital. After that, weak and shaken, he had to reappear every day for nine days for a 30-minute IV drip of antibiotics.
I was his designated driver, and we talked about many things during those trips to the hospital, including life, death, and the afterlife. My brother has never been a communicator, especially about his feelings, so this was a rare experience for us.
For two weeks, I spent all day, every day, with Rich. I cleaned his house, did his laundry, cooked, and ran errands while he rested on the couch. One day, when clearing out a dusty bedroom closet, I found an old bathrobe. My first impulse was to stuff it in a garbage bag with all the other trash I had collected, but Rich stopped me.
“That belonged to Dad. It was always too small for me, but I couldn’t bear to throw it away.”
I looked more closely. It was a red-tartan flannel robe made by LL Bean, still in very good condition. When I tried it on, I was flooded with images of my Dad. He wore this robe during his final years when he got up in the night, unable to catch his breath from emphysema.
“Looks good on you,” Rich said. “You can have it.”
I washed it and carried it home in my suitcase. I have worn it every day since then. Lightweight yet cozy, this robe is a warm embrace. I appreciate that it has endured for over 30 years and still provides comfort. It looks nice, too.
Future Comforts
I sent an email to the LL Bean company, thanking them for this well-made robe. They responded immediately, wishing me “many more years to come” in wearing it. I’m so glad I didn’t throw the robe away.
We all need reminders of what’s worth keeping, especially as we get older. Collectibles are good, but sometimes ordinary, everyday things are even better.
As the writer Anne Lamott said recently in a Washington Post column (2023), with age and increased awareness, “the little things start to shine and delight. Life gets smaller, and in its smallness, it starts winking at you.”
I know exactly what she means.
Written by: Ruth Ray Karpen
Ruth Ray Karpen is a retired English professor who now works as a freelance researcher and writer. She has published many books and articles on aging and old age, life story writing, and retirement. She also volunteers for a local animal shelter. In our series on Heart and Soul, she explores how later life, including the end of life, offers unique opportunities for emotional and spiritual growth.
On behalf of Smart Strategies for Successful Living, our sincerest appreciation goes to Ruth Ray Karpen for her contribution to the heart and soul of living and aging.