Seeing the bits of string and raffia that Mary left behind, I totally get it. Ties are endlessly useful. I have a small box of twisties of various lengths nestled beside a small jar of plastic bread clips in a kitchen drawer, and a spool of string that should last several generations. (Will anyone want it when I’m gone?) I have other odd bits, found objects, some strung together and hanging from the kitchen door, others on the living room mantel. I look at them with tenderness when they catch my eye and remember (or try to) where I found them.