You have lots of... things
The hearse pulled into my family’s driveway at the appointed hour. My parents mentioned that an artist was stopping by, though I had no idea the artist’s entrance would imprint so indelibly in my mind. From his ginormous, black hearse, to the wild hair and beard, this man-in-black was the antithesis of the early-1970s, suburban world that I inhabited. My adoptive parents were thoroughly suburban. We had lots of stuff, and hungered for the stuff that we didn’t have. I thought nothing of this – it’s how all my friends and I lived. With one sentence, however, the artist showed me another view of all this stuff, initiating a conflicted relationship with stuff that I’ve been working with for 50+ years. Repurposed hearses are really big station wagons that can haul lots of things. As he entered our house, he hesitantly said “You have lots of… things .” The pause on “things” was pregnant with meaning, and even though I was scarcely of school-age, I grokked the layered meanings implied by the