In less than three weeks, I will get in my SUV, packed from floor mats to glove box with my valuables, and I will head to our new home. This begs the question, as I pack box after box of our personal belongings, what goes in the car? What goes in the car are those things that are most precious to us. Are those “things” irreplaceable? Some, yes. If I parked the car somewhere, walked into Bojangles for a buttery biscuit, and came out to find the car in ashes, what would most upset me? Easy to ask a question like this, as heaven forbid, it is not likely to happen. But, if it did, would I be angry that my scrapbooks with all my accomplishments had been charred to nothing? Would I be upset if our beautiful art glass was in pieces? Would I be devastated that my Dad’s tennis-ball-sized fuzzy bear, age 70, had completely disappeared?
I would probably have been upset by all of this, but the real question is this: What do we value? What do you value? I value people and memories. Things are just things. That is not to say I don’t enjoy buying things, using them, admiring them and coveting them. What really matters, particularly when we are in that raw moment of crisis is the intangible. It isn’t the fuzzy bear that I cherish; it’s where that bear has been for the past seven decades. It was in my father’s hands, on his bookshelf, in my grand-daughter’s tiny fist, on my nightstand. It was purchased in France during World War II when my father was awaiting his orders to head to Normandy Beach for the clean-up.
What would you pack in your car? What would bring tears to your eyes if it was destroyed?