When I’m 65…

I always say that when I’m 65 (and if I make it there) I want to be able to go through a box of all the letters, cards, photographs I have ever gotten. Of course, over the years, somehow, many of these letters and cards have seemingly vanished into thin air, but many I still keep. Along with movie ticket stubs, concert and play and ballet and opera ticket stubs. Librettos and programs. And little handscribbled post-it notes and cards that once accompanied flowers. Lift tickets and hotel room keys. A jar full of 42 quarters (from the Philly mint) my dad collected for my ex-boyfriend’s state quarters collection (I didn’t have the heart to tell my dad I didn’t need them anymore). Tacky jewelry from my first boyfriend. Drawings my little sister made for me when she was 5… As you can see, the box is going to be more like a trunk.

Now that’s all fine and dandy, but what about e-mail? I’ve been hoarding all this e-mail in my inbox from when I first opened up the account 5 years ago. Given, that yes, I do sometimes go back and read some of them (I even have favorites), I still have limited space in my account. Two days ago, my sister complained that some e-mail she sent me bounced. I immediately went in and deleted all the e-mails from people I didn’t remember. I thought to delete e-mails from people who are permanently out of my life, but… some of them are very entertaining. I deleted all the e-mails from my family’s (read: clan) yahoo group. But I still have 90% left. And I don’t want to delete anything else. So what do I do? (I don’t want to switch to a different e-mail account because everyone I know and their mothers have this e-mail address.)

I have very often entertained the idea of printing e-mails from various people into little books. Or one massive book. Not that anyone else would be interested in reading it, but I could always put in on my bookshelf. (Come to think of it, my bookshelf’s pretty full, too…)

Not to mention that by the time I’m 65, I’ll probably have three times as much stuff to hoard. I’ll be one of those eccentric old ladies who gets lost in her house and when she dies, half the stuff she owns is of no value to anyone else. (It’s not like I’m into antiques or real estate or anything.)

Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll be a famous author by then and every one of my possessions, including those handscribbled post-it notes, will be intriguing to someone.

(Sigh…)