Recycled people.

I've been thinking about reincarnation a lot in recent years. There's something more appealing about it as I enter old age than the idea of going to heaven, hell or purgatory. We come back to life as somebody else, which is easier to understand than trying to imagine living as ethereal spirit somewhere in another dimension. But what happens if we are reincarnated into something that is living a wretched existence, like those insects that are used by wasps to carry their eggs? Or imagine coming back as a human living in a slum or some war torn region. But I like to think that it would be exciting to be a new human being, a baby with a fresh start on life. It would be a delight if we had that opportunity in this life that we know.

Our stuff

Becoming decrepit and a hoarder seem to go hand in hand with late age. I remember my aging relatives and all the clutter in their living spaces, where there was hardly a square inch on any upright surface that wasn't occupied with a photo frame, a ceramic figurine or other such bric a brac. I don't want to end my life in such squalor. I'm determined to throw stuff out now before I get too old and no longer in good health to remove them.

You don't have to live like a refugee

Last week I moved to a new apartment in the same building I've been living in since 2014. The move was less expensive this time around since my son and I did all the labor, with the exception of two Central American guys ( more on that shortly) but it was no less physically and emotionally exhausting. The lifting of most of the heavy furniture is always less difficult than gathering up all the little things, the pens the pieces of paper on the floor that have to be inspected and all the bric a brac and and miscellaneous items in drawers and in shelves. I always make a vow that after the after the move I will have a monthly throw-something out day, and it is a vow that is never kept.