We live our lives as gatherers, unconscious collectors. The theatre tickets from the play, which is our lives. We save and savor selectively, discarding the unnecessary. Sometimes by shear coincidence, there comes a collision, With a memory long forgotten. After effects never die, they are all so very personal, even to those who aren't the original owner. Just as one person's poison is another person's pleasure. Is anything really necessary? The next time you open an old box of "junk", realize its only junk, because you put it in that box, or somebody else did. junk is only an word, which quickly changes its definition, to something personal. A Mother once said to me, "I threw out all the things that I thought my children wouldn't be interested in." I would treasure anything that my Mother had touched. All that "junk" had a reason once, and still does. Need I say more?