As I poke through stuff, trying to decide what to get rid of, it's sad and obvious to me that I don't have anybody who wants or needs any of my junk. I suppose that all that really matters is that I outlast Jamaica and Angel. They're my only valuable treasures. My rock'n'roll memorabilia looks like trash that crazy people nail to walls if I'm not around to tell the stories. The house is special to me but I know that it will be bulldozed to make room for another McMansion soon after I'm gone.
I don't think the Salvation Army would touch my wardrobe. Most of it looks like the stuff that you see them bundling for the rag factories if you go around the back of the thrift stores.
What about my songs? It occurs to me that nobody has wanted them while I've been alive. Uh oh. The only good thing, I guess, is that nobody will be cheated out of anything! If growing old doesn't make you a Buddhist, you're not paying attention.