Debby Does…

On January 30th, 2020, we lost most of our most personal belongings and all of the costumes, props, and sets from the theater company we owned in a terrible storage unit fire. Though it’s been four long years—emphasis on the long part—not a week goes by that we don’t look for something and proclaim, “Oh yes, that was lost in the fire.” 

I could tell you the whole story about how we saw the smoke and flames and realized what was happening, but I think it’s more important to talk about stuff and the meaning of stuff to me and, maybe to you.

Please understand that I am not in any way minimizing the fact that no lives were lost and there were no injuries from this awful fire. What I am saying is people, me most especially, hold “stuff” in the highest esteem. We place value on it, embed it in our memories, and deeply mourn its loss.

After the fire, people constantly told us to count our blessings because no one was hurt and we still had our home. It was, as they said, just stuff. Stuff can be replaced.

Yes. They were right—in a pragmatic, really maddening way that inspired some violent tendencies on my end.

But, even with that helpful logic, she said sarcastically, the stuff weighed heavily on our minds. 

I kept asking myself if that meant I was an overly materialistic person or shallow in some way. I wondered why I couldn’t respond to this particular disaster with a “Yes, but…” phrase like other people. I pondered the concept of Swedish Death Cleaning. In short, I found myself thinking about stuff, and my attachment to it, more than a little. 

What was in those storage units that mattered? 

Memories. Journeys. Hopes. Dreams. Magic.

Irreplaceable things. 

Ahhh, so not just “stuff.”

We sold our dream house in 2016 to care for my mom at her house. We sold 70% of our belongings and put the most precious things in that storage unit. My first recorded singing at age 4 or 5? Lost. Jim’s grandparents’ vintage Grundig stereo that played his favorite albums as a kid? Gone. My Singing Hoosier dress? Melted (I never thought that was made of natural fibers). And so much more, including some things that we haven’t even realized. Still, as we were told, it was just stuff. 

In 2002, we created the Shaken Not Stirred Players, a small theater company that produced shows until the very end of 2023. Every prop, costume, and set piece was in that storage unit. My mom’s and grandmom’s vintage gowns and dresses, as well as those donated to us by friends who knew we would take care of them. But, again, just stuff. 

So, what matters about stuff? My friend, Cathy Johnson, said it best. I paraphrase: ”Sentimental things are our tickets to the past, jettisoning us back to the people we love and have lost and the times that have faded long ago.” That’s a journey that’s deeply rooted in the soul and one that our hearts need in the darkest times. The trinkets of life are part of our museum, part of our being’s fiber, and part of what reminds us of who we are and maybe even who we were. 

It’s not just stuff. These are the threads of our personal tapestry, telling the story for all who come through our lives while we’re here and sift through them after we’re gone.

Don’t ever apologize for loving your stuff. You have it because it speaks to you, reminds you, and places you in history.