Turned 47 couple days ago. Mom said to get a present, shed pay. I tried on a smart winter jacket. If fit perfectly, felt great. Oh, then I spied some nasty hot Frye boots. They fit great, felt perfect. Went back and forth between them for more than a month. Id decide on one or the other, buy whichever, take it to mom, shed wrap it, and Id open it. Came time to choose and buy, so I tried each one, one last time, and bought neither. Dont need either. Seven years ago a friend and I rebuilt a 1962 Ford F 100 pickup. Sanded, scraped, molded, added parts, fabricated parts, built up a 351 Windsor motor, assembled the lot, had it painted. It came out fantastic. It roared. I took gals touring in it and I scored. I used it to move myself, and my mom when she moved. Used it in some of my work for photos and audio (Engine noise *see Golddiggers Beware track #11). Now Im selling it. Simplify. Plus at 47 though I may be physically a tad less defined, Im maybe emotionally a tad more defined. Im over the truck. I hardly use it now. Im past it. If it sells, I wont even take it for a last ride. Get it out of here cause sitting around it will eventually rot. Someone will love it. Ahhh. Simplify. I bought my 1986 FXRS 1340 Harley in 1990 (Before the big Harley craze), for $5500.00 from a guy headed to jail. Bought it for the sound, the wind, the danger, the smells (Riding past a freshly cut field of hay, or smelling a helmet fresh from a gals head), bought it to define my life at the time. We do that. Thought Id always want it. I dont. The past 4 or 5 years Ive put on less than 250 miles a year. It sits. Got to get rid of it, cause it sits and I dont marvel at many things, including it. Some folks do, and I guess thats okay, but my bike is stuff, nice stuff, but when spring comes I wont salivate to jump on and go, so, see ya. Ahhh. Simplify. When friends hear Im selling my truck and bike they gasp. I think for them a little bit of Rusty dies when the truck and bike are out of the picture. They get over the news of selling much faster than if I actually died, but still, for my friends, for more than a moment, they mourn the loss of the bike and truck in their lives. The Rusty my friends know, the Rusty who loved the bike and truck will not return with the leaves this spring. That guy is gone, and thats good. You must move and keep moving. You have to move on and change and get the hell rid of things, because things are just things, they mean something to us only because they mean something to us. They dont really mean something to us. I worked for 11 years in New York City at an auction house, William Doyle Galleries. Its now called, Doyle New York (See Antiques Road Show). For six of those years, until his death, I was William Doyles assistant. I was his confidant, driver, right hand man, and bit of a bodyguard. I also toted his wife and three daughters here and there. I was like a family member. Ahhh, what an experience. Bill and I would scour the Avenues, Toney countryside, and Hamptons for goods. Quite often an older lady would call for a visit wondering about auctioning several pieces with the hope of raising cash to send her grandchild to school, or to just pay her taxes. When she and Bill would get close to a deal, you could see the lady start to tighten up and question whether she could bare living without her precious breakfront, or sterling silver set. Bill would detect the clients sadness and apprehension, and without missing a beat tell her, You know, these thing were someone elses before they were yours. We only borrow em. The only things we really leave are our kids. Bill Doyle was a smart dude. Happy Holiday Season. Get presents for people. Throw some of your stuff out.