One of the things about being old is that you know which of these you are—packrat or streamliner. Until packrats get old, they’re always making resolutions to change, to stop hoarding stuff, to “simplify”, etc. My friend Bobbie hangs on to everything: clothes (“It will come back in style—everything does”), furniture (“I might need an extra chair”), tools she never used, bits of sandpaper, plugs and wires—she can’t remember what gizmo they came with, but she holds on to them just in case. In case of what?

Bobbie keeps old grudges. Her ex-husband died without her forgiveness. Her sister still bears the burden of Bobbie’s childhood rivalry. And she just can’t bring herself to speak to a former friend who betrayed a confidence thirty years ago. Apparently, she even treasures her old prejudices. Even though one of her closest friends is an African American professor, she never completely let go of her old southern conviction that white people are superior and should “look after” those less intellectually endowed. I don’t think she actually believes that any more; it’s just that it’s hers—it belongs to her.

Bobbie lives alone in a house that could accommodate six people easily. She’s turned one entire bedroom into her closet and recently decided that another bedroom could be set aside for clothes not in season. (“A winter closet and a summer closet—smart, huh?”)

Bobbie hasn’t made a will. She knows she should. She hasn’t completed an Advance Directive, though again, she knows she should. Confronted with the fact that her children will have a very difficult time, financially, emotionally, legally, she denies any such possibility. To make a will would be to donate at least one of those closets to charity. It would be to acknowledge that she had a part to play in the failure of her marriage. It would be to admit that her friend Miriam may be smarter than she is, even though she’s black. It would be to forget that Sue Ellen told Jane that Bobbie thought Jane was too fat to wear pastel colors.

Bobbie doesn’t make a will because she has no intention of letting go of her life. It’s hers.

You have to love her. She found out years ago that you love her and she’d not going to let go of that love—it’s hers. So, no matter what she says or does that hurts you, no matter whether you have other interests than hers, no matter what—she’s not going to let go of your love. And that’s when you recognize that Bobbie is a blessing—especially if you’re a streamliner, like me.

I hope Jesus is a packrat.