Heirlooms of the future.

Some things I'd like to pass down to my kids, should I ever have any, and should they not turn out to be complete ingrates:

My State of Texas belt buckle, which was my pops'.
My dictionary, which was given to my pops by a girlfriend he had in the '60s.
My samovar, which my pops got while serving in Russia in the early '70s.
My record collection (once I'm too dead to listen to it myself).
My unpainted Ral Partha lead miniature of an illusionist.
The plaid blanket my parents bought me as a kid in Rome.
The Bible my mom gave me in 1994.
The proof copy of Axis Mundi Sum, if I ever get it back from Cheyenne.
The Finnegans Wake sigla ring Sara made for me, but only after I'm dead.
And more.

I don't know why I get such a kick out of theorizing about parenthood, given how incredibly unfit I currently am to take care of anyone but myself (debatable) and the ferrets (they seem content, but if they could talk I'm sure they'd complain- I wonder where they are right now?), not to mention my distaste of almost any kind of relationship right now that doesn't involve me and books.

I blame it on writing my fictional future daughter, Moxie, into Axis Mundi Sum years ago. Fuckin' self-fulfilling prophecy.