The amateur radios, et al.

This will seem like a long rambling story.

About throwing Mark's shit away.

Mark was an amateur radio operator.  He had been interested in it for years, back when CB radios were a thing.  So in the very early 90's he got his radio license.  He commandeered the walk-in closets at both houses to make his very own "ham shack" and climbed around in both attics, installing antennas.  He also installed radios in all of his vehicles, with the associated antennas.  He was a member of several emergency response organizations, taught a radio badge for boy scouts, and participated in several City of Austin Emergency Response drills (remember Y2K?).  Recently I came across all of his licenses and certificates and training manuals and books and notes and ID badges and CRAP and seriously, I felt so overwhelmed by it all.  I cleaned out the drawers I had it all stored in.  Then I turned my attention to the actual radios and etc.

I had pulled all of them out of the master closet and was this close to taking them all to the recycle center when Grayson said, lets sell them I'll help you.  But after a month's time, we both realized we were in over our heads.  So in a fit of  "myGodIcan'tstandthisanymore", I pushed all of it to one side of the garage while I worked on another project. Then I calmly pulled the recycle bin around to the garage and loaded up all of the manuals and cardboard boxes Mark had saved.  I shoved the radios, and a very old chainsaw and drill, into the back of the truck and made an appointment at the recycle center to drop them all off.  I felt a twinge of guilt, then I remembered:

Mark is not his stuff.  Mark neither cares about nor needs ham radios in heaven.  Mark would understand the burden of this stuff and would want me not to be unhappy in my home.  Then I let them go.

P.S.  Someday I may tell the story of how we struck a deal involving ham radios with Mark going to the dentist...