Diary of a Geriatric Scarlet: November 28, 2050

Maybe because I'm old, I wonder what will happen to my things when I'm gone. I'm sure my art collection and my limoge and my jewelry will be picked over and split between my heirs. With dollar signs in their eyes, they will ascribe value using the same formula as antique roadshow.

Consider these books from my childhood in the mid 20th century:

So well loved. So well battered and decrepit.

Here's my copy of Winnie the Pooh, inscribed by my dear mother:

To me, this book is a treasure. But what is this stained old paper pulp to anyone else beyond the only daughter of my mother? Don't answer that.

Here's the inscription in a story book entitled, "Felix the Bald-Headed Lion." My grandfather gave it to me 80 years ago. He's been dead as long as he was alive. 

And because I'm the last to remember the giving of the gift, when I go, Felix will likely go too. Maybe to the thrift store, but likely to the recycling center. Because in my infinite pre-K wisdom, I drew all over the pages with magic markers.

Estate-planning wise, it is patently false what Coco Chanel said: "The best things in life are free but the second best cost a lot of money."

Clearly it is the second-best things are the best things when it comes to the life of your heirs when you are dead.

And the so-called best things, the free things? Free is a synonym for $0. And keepsakes will be Hefty bagged by your descendants accordingly.

So enjoy your memories to their fullest potential. Revel in them, deplete them, use them all up. They turn into pumpkins at the stroke of your midnight.