The junk and detritus we leave behind....

The state of the flea-market address is my first post about this topic, probably my last. I went to a local flea-market in Southern Delaware County, PA this morning. There were the normal array of Avon, T-shirts, and knitted-stuff vendors there, but also a pretty nice array of tools and antiques. To top it all off, was my greatest purchasing weakness; books. Being military, I have hung onto a select array of books, mostly on pretty specific topics I won't ever find again (Churchill Tanks, New England Cod Fishing Vessels of the 19th Century...you get the picture.) I have had to be selective, due to the fact that my entire household moves every four years or less, and I have a very finite household weight limit. Because of this, it is very rare that I find anything that I need or want enough to risk topping out that limit, and you would be surprised how much a shelf of books really weighs!
This mostly hasn't been a problem for me over the last decade while going to yard sales, flea markets and the like, as it seemed like the only books ever for sale was old Michael Crichton books, diet books, or tattered copies of the Celestine Prophecy. The last few used book bonanzas I have been to have been in stark contradiction to the norm. Today I found an entire set of the Patrick O'Brian books from the Jack Aubrey line, a whole set! For like a buck each! Two booths down I found another set of the same, including 6 books from the Hornblower series. Very cool stuff that I would have palpitated my heart some years ago. I found several military history books, some old technical books made by the military for small unit tactics, and some art books featuring Ansel Adams, and Wyeth. Stuff that is spookily right up my alley.
Despite the joy and excitement of seeing (and purchasing) many of these books my skeptical mind thought very hard on where these tomes had come from. I had my suspicions, and they were confirmed when I questioned one of the older matrons running the stands.
"Where did you come by these great books?" I had asked. She clearly read the "joygasm" look on my face (which is why I don't play poker, or hide crap from my wife,) she smiled and answered.
"They were my Brother's books. He had quite the collection, he collected them for years, and was very picky about what added." She seemed to lay on the very sentimental point at the end to (in my mind) emphasize that the price of those books would not be haggled with since my facial expression had blown my hand minutes before.
She told me he loved history, and loved museums, and regaled his grand kids and anyone who would listen with stories of long dead text-books staples. In short, he was very much like me.
"How old was he when he passed?" I asked. 66 was the quick reply. Just 26 years older than I am, and a card carrying member of the boomer generation.
And there it was. These books weren't the outcasts of any Gen X'ers, or Gen Y, or older generations who had cast them aside upon the discovery of color TV and home theaters. These were the prized treasures of the off-spring of the Greatest Generation. And now they too, like their hero Dad's and Mom's, were passing from the world. I see similar things happening when I go to museums and battlefields. When I was a kid it was families of folks around my age traipsing around where Aaron Burr took a cheap shot at Hamilton, or the decks of musty smelling ships. Now when I go, I don't see as many families, but more older couples, very slow, very gray. I hear them talk about things they see, with wonderment, and borderline excitement.
The same act can be seen at wargame conventions as well. Don't get me wrong, there are more young kids there than there ever used to be. But for the most part it is older white guys, and ex military vets, and some folks talk like the former, and wish they had been the latter.
This is what gets me thinking about my hobbies. About what will happen to the completed models when I am gone. What will become of my platoons of FOW Italian Artillery platoons that I spent so much time painting?
Will some kid use my Sherman Fireflys with his Hot Wheels? I guess it would not bother me as much if I stumbled across a bin of old D and D figures, or old Star Fleet Battles minis at one of these flea markets. But   I don't. Where do old minis go to die?
Do I picture my treasured books and items at the bottom of some rotting cardboard box? Sure, but to that end, I give this message to you person in the future who buys my stuff. These thread-bare volumes were loved, and sparked thoughts and deeds that turned the world. They were important enough to have moved with me upwards of 9 times in 6 different states. They sustained me when I was all alone and away from anyone who knew me in combat zones, and 5 star resorts alike. Enjoy them, and if you don't keep them, get what you can from them, and pass them on to someone else with passion.

P.S.- I used to read them on the shitter, so if you still use hand sanitizer in the future, you may want to dab some on after reading....