My mother was a very interesting woman. I've never met anyone like her. She was born in 1933 during the Great Depression in Phoenix. Her childhood was spent bouncing around different places in Arizona, southern California and Nevada. She was truly from the old West. The stories she told about her childhood fascinated me. I was born in 1960 and grew up during the social and sexual revolutions of the times; our experiences could not have been any more disparate. I bought myself a VW bug when I was sixteen, she rode a burro to high school and married and gave birth at sixteen. She actually told me of "turf wars" between the teenagers of Goldfield and Tonopah, Nevada over the ownership rights to the wild burros that roam that part of the desert among the eerie Joshua trees. (I have often wondered what a rumble over burros looked like.)
Later, I decided that the Ozzie and Harriet style of life I had discovered must be better and I was determined to give it a try. As a result I hung on to things and relationships beyond the point when they were no longer needed or loved. All of that is what I'm working now to keep letting go of, little by little. Mom, Happy Birthday. You were right about a lot of things.
These have lost their usefulness for me:
1. A racquetball racket
2. Another racquetball racket
3. Yep, yet another one. Oddly, a couple of these were well worn and I don't even remember anyone every playing racquetball.
4. A yellow baseball with a smiley face on it
5. A 6' piece of wooden rope molding