Entropy

Jack Deatherage

 2-b: a process of degradation or running down
or a trend to disorder -Merriam-Webster

(1/2021) 2021, and we're waist deep in entropy. We've still boxes of stuff we carried home from MomD's apartment- 25 years of accumulated books, magazines, pamphlets- all religious. Plus pictures of family, knickknacks, patty whacks and I'm sure there's a bone or two. Some of the boxes we mailed south to siblings and nieces. Some clothing went to Seton Center, though much of Mom's stuff went into a dumpster. At the end of ninety-four years of existence- the bulk of Mom's material accumulation amounted to so much trash destined for a landfill. It took the DW and I three months to empty her apartment. This April, Mom will have been ash for two years and we still haven't figured out what to do with what remains of her life.

I should have known the laughing gods were just getting warmed up. The DW's da died a year ago. Her mom recently went into long term care when it became obvious the DW could no longer help her stay in the old home place. So began the emptying of that house. Fifty-seven years of accumulation! Fortunately, the DW has a sister, a brother in-law, nephews and their squeezes nearby who show up to sort through and haul away a fair bit of the useful stuff. Only Middle Brother helped us move Mom's furniture out of her apartment. My other siblings were hundreds of miles away.

DW's ma asked her not to get rid of her collection of Native American themed historical romance novels. (Gods have mercy! The DW was days working in just her mom's book room!) Every box of books I carried out to the car was accompanied with a mantra- "Don't bring anything home unless you have a place for it." Evidently the place for her mom's stuff is on top of our stuff, my mom's stuff and stuff we aren't even sure who owns it!

Fortunately, a kind local woman took several boxes of novels off our hands and the Gettysburg public library agreed to take a dozen more boxes in spite of that branch being overwhelmed with donations. Our county library isn't taking any book donations due to the COVID-19. (I'm rethinking my opinions of the state and county public library systems. I'm also rethinking my opinions of several nearby charities who did not return phone calls the DW dutifully made while trying to avoid sending the books to the landfill.)

Somewhere in the midst of all this the Mad One, who's been with us since July, storms into the upstairs apartment where I'm playing mahjong- minding my own business- and snarls, "Why do you hate your son?"

Now that was an odd question, even coming from someone not raised in my branch of the clan. Turns out she and my cousin had spent most of a day sorting through and throwing out a sea container full of her father in-law's personal belongings. Knowing what our house contains, she was furious that we'd leave the mess for Jack,3 to deal with. "How could you?" seemed to be the bulk of her expressed outrage.

I don't think she was happy with my answer. "It's a test of his intelligence. If he's smart, he'll come home and take what is of value to him. Then he'll call an estate auction company to get rid of everything else, including the house- which needs numerous repairs."

Of course, he's smarter than I've ever been. When he was here two Mother's Days ago he told us to order a roll off dumpster and start emptying the house. There is little we have that's of value to him. Which is another joke played on me. Thirty some years of accumulating books, fishing tackle, gardening stuff, and cookware for him to make use of and he goes off in some other life's direction, potentially turning all my efforts into landfill debris. Oh, the laughter of the gods rings in my head!

With the Mad One and Cousin Luke now gone off to another continent, we've begun to rearrange the upstairs to suit our needs. This gives us room to begin sorting and tossing the junk downstairs. While friends and neighbors are urging us to avoid sending things to the landfill- "put it on eBay!" "put it on Facebook Marketplace!"- the most we're going to do is let a few friends and a niece (coming up from Florida this spring) sort through it. Then we start piling it on the sidewalk on Friday mornings as "sidewalk sale" stuff, and wave goodbye to it Monday mornings as the trash haulers take it away.

There's long been some maniacal aspect of me that takes over when I'm forced to action when I don't want to move. Being ordered to mow the lawn sees flowerbeds reduced to shreds. Cleaning out one of the several refrigerators sees the chill box all but left empty. Sort out the pantry? I'll be buying things I threw out within a week or two. Get rid of clothes I can't wear? The DW will suddenly have plenty of room for clothes she doesn't wear!

As I think about it, I realize I miss the days when all of value that I owned was a motorcycle and the stuff I could cram in its saddle buckets. Yeah, things are different when I'm responsible for more than just myself, but other than a place to sleep, store foods, cook, bathe and hook to the interwebs do I really need everything piled around me?

I'm sure I'll need my hobby accessories as I settle into my dotage. But even those have changed since my accumulating much of their geegaws. The brew buckets that once fermented wine and mead, then cabbages, will become flowerpots. I'll have to find someone still into the hobby to take the glass and plastic carboys though. I haven't a clue as to what I might use them for.

As open spaces once more appear in our house I'll drag out the three-tiered growlight and get back to sowing and growing some houseplants- if I can find seeds! So many of the companies I used to deal with have vanished. With room enough to set up a table I'll spend hours sorting through fishing tackle and deciding who I can gift it to- hopefully some local youngster not yet lost to his or her smart phone.

I suppose I should be feeling something akin to melancholic as I begin preparing for my eventual discorporation, but I don't. I'm closer to comfortably numb, a state I once wasted good money on when I should have been spending it on dreams achievable. I'd argue I'll be taking what little I've learned into the next turn of the wheel, but just thinking that brings the guffawing gods to mind.

Ah well. Though the New Year's Day feast was canceled, the urge to prepare the foods of the feast remains. I've egg noodles and shrimp stuffed ravioli to make, and breads to build and gift. The equipment and tools for those will remain with me as long as I'm competent enough to use them.