Greeting Cards

And the lightening of the lode continues.  If you have ever sent me a greeting card, I pretty much still have it.  That's right, fifty some years of Hallmark memories are in boxes and bags in my basement.  Christmas and birthday cards, invitations, anniversary, and every other holiday under the sun.  And I'm getting rid of them now.

But of course I just can't toss them out.  I have to read them all.  No, not the the printed part from the card companies, but the little notes and comments you have all sent.  Yeah, I'm reading them all one more time.  And the memories sure do come back.  There are greetings from relatives celebrating births and weddings and anniversaries.  And condolences for losses.  There are party invitations for all kinds of events.  And there are notes here for no reasons at all.  Some of these cards are silly, some are dated (I mean content dated, not old dated---of course they are old), and some are just pretty "cards".

And then there are the people who sent the cards, those kind enough to remember the Mrs. and me.  There have been many changes in my life, as well as yours.  I have greetings from you before you we married, before you had kids.  Some of you have divorced.  Some of your kids now have kids.  I have cards from relatives who have passed away---some are sad, but people get old.  They all bring back memories.  There are cards from old classmates, old girlfriends, and people who I have absolutely no idea who they are.  Some folks simply signed their names, other short notes.  There are cards here from people I sure do miss seeing, and folks I hear from all the time.  Oh, and the wonderful Christmas letters are all there is well.

But now is the time to send them to the recycling bin.  I'm keeping the ones (for now) from mom and dad, the in laws,  and everything from the Mrs,--even from before she was the Mrs.  But everything is being read.  I want to thank you all once again for the kind wishes, and all the memories they are bringing back.

Well I'm Back

Well I've been gone from the blogosphere for quite some time now, but now I am back.  I had thought that I was probably done, but I went back to my first post and was reminded of the reasons I originally stared writing this thing----different things on my mind, hopefully the kids will get around to reading it someday.  So I'm going to get back at it. 

As I have written about earlier, I have decided it is time to start weeding out some of the stuff around here.  Those of you who know me well know that I never get rid of anything, because every time I do it turns out I'll end up needed it for something--or so I think.  But I have finally realized stuff has to go.  So it goes with the..........beer can collection.......

I started my can collection probably when I was 13 or 14 years old.  My neighbors Chris and Tom were also into it, and we spent quite a bit of time trading amongst ourselves.  There were the trips to Rummage O Rama and to St. Als.  And a couple of years the big trip to St. Martins Fair would net some old beer cans.

And then there were the family vacations where I would walk around the side of roads looking for beer cans. I remember one year in Washington walking with my cousins and sisters looking for cans, and another in Arizona when some guy asked me if I was riding the rails while I was just looking or old beer cans. 

And there were trips to the various beer depots looking for obscure beer cans.  Anything  new or different I had to have.  Soon, of course, money started getting in the way and the joy of basically collecting garbage began to wane.  No longer could you just stop and pick a six pack at the regular prices.  Now "collector cans" began to cost more.  No longer could you get an old can for a buck or two.  The "dealers" were driving the prices up.  I never made a conscious decision to quit collecting, but I did. 

But I never got rid of the cans I had.  Everyone of them had their own story, and I pretty much remembered them all.  I had enjoyed displaying them, first in my room then in the basement.  I found them interesting and colorful, and I enjoyed the stories about the cans and the breweries.  Eventually, mom moved, and my beer cans were all boxed up.  I don't remember what happened to them when I was living in the apartment, but when the Misses and I moved into the house in Milwaukee, I had them back. 

And my buddies and I moved them here to the Falls 20 years ago.  We stored them under the basement steps, and that is pretty much where most of them stayed right there.  There were about a hundred or so I displayed for about 10 or 12 years, but other than that they haven't been touched. 

So last week I was looking at Craigslist at see somebody looking for beer cans.  I decided to get in touch with the guy.  As I have decided to start weeding out, I have thought about my beer can collection.  I was afraid that when I was gone the Misses would just toss them out.  I knew I didn't want this to happen, heck I figured these things have to be worth a lot of money.  Hence my call to Andrew.

And my dose of reality.  There isn't much of a market for old beer cans, unless they are real old, and in real good shape.  I pulled the boxes out, and he went through them.  There were some nice cans and some dumpers, a couple that interested him and some he claimed were "worthless".  Maybe to him, but not to me.  They all had memories for me.  People who had given them to me, which show I got them at, the guys I traded them with, the family vacations looking for them.  He said I could toss some of them out.  Not gonna happen.  Turns out the most valuable thing I had was a Grampa Grafs root beer can.  Ironic.  So after a couple of hours, he makes me an offer for the entire collection.  My "gold mine" was worth a couple of nice dinners with the Misses.  I was stunned, and saddened, and I took the deal. 

But I got one additional thing thrown into the deal.  I'm going to Andrews house to see his collection, and to meet his collector friends.  And to see the few cans of mine that he didn't have and has added to his collection.   And maybe I get a new friend out of the deal.  And all my beer cans get a new home---even if most get tossed.  I--and better yet, the Misses--didn't have to do the deed.  Forty years, time to move on....