For us, chincero means stuff.
Lots of stuff.
This house was my family's third home for twenty-six years.
Mom and I were still packing that twenty-six years of Chincero.
My God the paperwork, old bank statements, bills, unwritten checks.
I found a huge honking knife that would've made Jim Bowie proud. So I decided to keep it.
Tupperware. Tupperware is the bane of my existence.
Hell is an infinite room filled with mismatched Tupperware and the desire to match each set.
Water-stained pictures in albums.
Some people we know, others we don't.
Do we keep those pictures?
Is there an archive service that will keep them?
They are history, no?
Throwing them away or recycling them feels immoral.
(What happens to my prints when I shuck off the mortal coil?)
Mom worked at my high school, and I found old senior photographs and grad invites. Again, what to do we do with these photos?
I opened up my Dad's nightstand: old cologne, his hearing aids, and tons of batteries.
Club cards are a dangerous thing.
We have my Dad's old navy uniform. Dad was thin and had a tiny waist.
Nobody can fit in that uniform. Not for Halloween to wear on a random Saturday.
Why keep it?
If I keep it, I kick the decision to keep down the road.
What's a family Heirloom?
I'm not sure.
I found an old box of awards from Highschool.
I call it my Al Bundy box.
But when I get home, do I hang these awards on my wall?
Lots of old electronics, then newer electronics. We'll get more.
It's just so much stuff.
One thing my mom packed was this white bench.
It was a gift from Dad.
A set of glasses that belong to a beloved Tia.
Someday these items will lose their significance and get donated or trashed.
Junk drawers were tossed.
Little doodads were bought to make things a tad easier but removed after the old way was better.
Mom kept the letters from her days as a confirmation teacher. Reminders of how she helped young teens find and know God.
We're nowhere near done, but God willing, we'll move on to Mom's next phase tomorrow.
She'll unpack and whittle down her Chincero. Maybe acquire a bit more.
So will I, but doing this, I realize how selective I need to be with my purchasing.
Someday, my wife or my son will have to rummage through my chincero.
Hopefully, I leave them with less stuff but more of what mattered to them and me.
My hope is to be on the road tomorrow and close out this long chapter with the memories this house brought, both good and bad.
Like my Grandfather, my Tia Petra and my father spent their last months in life in this house.
My father passed away here.
But I've got happy memories in this house.
Like when Lucy saw my graduation picture on her first visit and said, "that's the picture I saw of the man I was going to be within a dream."
I never thought I'd be the man of a woman's dream.
But I was.
And that is the good Chincero I'm taking with me.