In my great-grandfather's closet, I found two camera bags, a sheet of uncut two dollar bills, and a green jacket. I took one of the camera bags, a couple rolls of film, and the sheet of two dollar bills along with the jacket.

People compliment me when I wear the jacket. They ask where I got it. I say, "It's thrifted from the closet of my dead great-grandfather," and before they can console me I add, "Don't worry, he was 97."

In the right-hand pocket, I found a single stick of Wrigley's Doublemint gum, cracked and stale. It's sitting on my blue-painted desk now. I don't have the heart to throw it out.

Tomorrow, January 31st, will be the first Super Blue Blood Moon since 1866. (To put things into perspective, that was one year after the end of the Civil War). It seems fitting that as I write this, the moon sits outside my window anxiously waiting like a bride on her wedding day. In the morning, she will rise, a vision in red, but we can only guess what she will look like; there are no surviving pictures.

I calculated that it would take one and one half of a lifespan the length of my great-grandfather's to equal the distance between now and 1866. 152 years to be exact. It even predates the invention of Doublemint gum, which was invented in 1914, six years prior to the birth of my great-grandfather.

When I set out to write this piece, I figured as I was writing, I would be able to draw a line between the random facts and objects I have collected over the past month, but I can't. Part of me wanted the moon to welcome my great-grandfather into this world and kiss him goodbye on his way out like the comet-kissed Mark Twain in 1910, four years before the invention of Doublemint gum and a decade prior to my great-grandfather's existence.

Nevertheless, my attempts to correlate the miscellaneous are impossible because that's life, isn't it? There is little rhyme or reason, everything seems to happen once in a blue moon.