Rinker on Collectibles

RINKER ON COLLECTIBLES — Column #1752

To Be Opened on the Occasion of My Death

A sealed envelope marked “To Be Opened on the Occasion of my Death” has sat unopened on my desk for the past eight weeks. Although I wrote the instructions inside, I realized when I wrote them that I might never read them. Now that I am in a position to do so, I still am hesitant to open the envelope. I suspect I never will.

While Linda and I were living at our Altamonte Springs, Florida, condo in early Spring, I had some minor surgery. When in recovery, the anesthesiologist came to talk with me. “You had an atrial fibrillation for a few seconds when I first administered anesthesia. I have printed out the graph and wrote a note on the back. Make certain to share it with your general practitioner.”

Since Linda and I were planning to return to our Kentwood, Michigan, home in a few weeks and I felt fine, I decided to deal with the issue once I arrived back in Michigan. Further, I had an appointment to see my Michigan general practitioner a few days after I returned.

[Author’s Aside #1: Since Linda and I now spend six months in Michigan and six months in Florida, we have doctors in both locations. To be honest, we have found that Florida doctors are more sensitive and attuned to the issues of the elderly than doctors in elsewhere.]

Thanks to the COVID-19 crisis, the office visit with my Michigan general practitioner was switched from a person to person office visit to a video conference. In fact, my Michigan’s doctor’s office was close. He was working from home.

When I returned to Michigan, I mailed a copy of the anesthesiologist’s report to my Florida and Michigan doctors. My Michigan doctor and I discussed the report during our video conference. He asked the right questions – do you have any chest pain, shortness of breath; do you feel dizzy or light headed, and more. The answer was always no. My Michigan doctor recommended that I wear a heart monitor for two weeks to see if any irregularities might occur.

A day later, I received a call from my Florida general practitioner. He was extremely concerned. “Harry, your diabetes masks pain. You could be having numerous silent heart attacks or strokes. Ask your Michigan doctor to order a stress test immediately.” I did.

I had a stress test on Wednesday, May 20. Three hours later, I received a call from the cardiologist who read the test ordering me to return to review the results immediately. The stress test showed significant blockage and problems with two of my heart valves. On Friday, May 22, I spent the afternoon at the Meijer Heart Center in Grand Rapids for a catheterization. I figured a few stents, and I would be good as new. In recovery, the cardiologist who did the procedure explained the blockage was so bad, there was nothing they could do. Normally, I would have been sent immediately to heart surgery.

Since it was Memorial Day weekend and I had no symptoms of heart trouble, I was sent home for ten days so that additional testing could be done so the doctors could develop a solid plan of what to do. On Friday, May 31, I had a video conference with Dr. Justin Fanning, my heart surgeon. We agreed I would report on Wednesday, June 4, for open heart surgery.

To shorten the story, my estimated four-hour surgery took eight and one-half hours. I had a quintuple bypass, my aortic value was replaced, and another value was heavily scraped of blockage. Five days later, I had a dual valve pacemaker installed. I was released from the hospital on Friday, June 12. It was the worst of times (apologies Mr. Dickins).

[Author’s Aside #2: On Monday, June 15, I received a call from my Michigan doctor’s office to tell me that the heart monitor showed absolutely no irregularities and that there was nothing about which to worry. I took the time to explain what had happened in the interim.]

My recovery has gone extremely well. I am halfway through my Cardio Rehab program. I expect a clean bill of health by early September.

In the time between when I found out about my heart blockage and my initial recovery, I was surprised that I felt no great sense of urgency to deal with the things I owned. During my “What Is Going to Happen to all my Stuff when I Die?” lecture, I remind my audience that one answer to the question is that when a collector dies, his/her things are no longer his/her problem. As it turned out, there was more truth to that approach that I realized.

During the two weeks leading up to my heart surgery and the first month of recovery, I completely ignored my collections and the question of what will or should happen to them. I was a bit taken aback by my callousness. I love the objects I own. They define who I am. Yet, I made no effort to organize them or make provisions for them so that they might somehow survive and bear witness to who I was or still am.

I never saved or printed out the instructions I wrote, the exception being the printed pages of instructions that are physically in the envelope. There were four, single spaced pages of instructions. If memory serves me correctly, less than a page dealt with instructions concerning the disposition and dispersal of my collections.

In early 2019 just prior to Linda retiring, we made our wills. They contain very specific instructions. Hence, I had no worries in this regard. At least a page of the instructions provided directions for Linda as to where she could find the necessary financial and other documents that she would need should I die during surgery.

At some point, I suspect you will expect me to admit that my heart surgery was an epiphany, a wakeup call, that it is time for me to start disposing of my collections. Nothing is further from the truth.

The doctors have told me that I am good to go for another 12 to 14 years, hardly an incentive to feel any urgency to deal with the collective mess represented by the thousands of objects I own. Urgency is a complex collector motivator. It is far more prevalent in younger than older collectors. It also takes on a different meaning as one gets older.

Rather than deaccessioning, I have gone on a mild buying spree. I have been granted (I realize there is no guarantee) another 8 to 10 years to collect more of what I like and want and in addition spend more time with the things I already own. .

There was a several year period when I bought something every day for one or more of my collections. Now, I acquire with a bit more discretion but still am governed by one simple principle - “if I want it, I am going to buy it.”

I could add a second principle – “I cannot take my money with me into the afterlife, assuming there is such a thing; therefore, I might as well spend it while I am alive.” In the months ahead, I am planning to add some objects to my collections that I have put off buying because I was too cheap to shake the money loose from my savings.

One thing that has changed since my heart surgery is my desire to spend time in the field. Admittedly, the travel restrictions of the COVID-19 era play a major role in this. My hunt is now heavily computer driven, supplemented by telephone and zoom contact. I still prefer the sound of the human voice and personal contact over email and other informal communication technologies.

I recently added a Crystal King face jug to my collection. The jug features an angel talking into one ear and the devil into the other. Every time I look at it, I hear two mixed messages: (1) do something about organizing and disposing of your collections and (2) do not give a damn, just enjoy. I will let you guess which message I am listening to at the moment.

Harry L. Rinker welcomes questions from readers about collectibles, those mass-produced items from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Selected letters will be answered in this column. Harry cannot provide personal answers. Photos and other material submitted cannot be returned. Send your questions to: Rinker on Collectibles, 5955 Mill Point Court SE, Kentwood, MI 49512. You also can e-mail your questions to harrylrinker@aol.com. Only e-mails containing a full name and mailing address will be considered.

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