One of the items that I had sitting in my house was an antique desk. It was my mother’s desk in name, if not possession. We were storing it for her because there wasn’t space in her house. But after several years of it getting moved around my house to the least inconvenient spot, it just became…too inconvenient. So I called her up and asked, if she still wanted it. “Yes. Of course. It was my father’s desk. It’s over 100 years old.”