There are plenty of folks who aren't "hoarders" but nonetheless fiercely hold on to an item or two that might seem illogical to someone else. I call these people memorabiliacs — and, yes, I count myself a member of this august body.

For one thing — actually, several things — I can't bring myself to get rid of any of the concert T-shirts I've purchased over the years. In some cases, I can no longer fit into the T-shirt in question. OK, let's be honest: none of them fit because I'm an Increasingly Large Person. In fact, I find it hard to believe I ever fit in the Neville Brothers tank top and, in that spirit, I cringe because somewhere there's probably photographic evidence that proves it never fit.

But there's another memorabiliac item with which I cannot bear to part.

In January of this year, I conducted an email interview with the world-class New Orleans trumpeter Nicholas Payton prior to a weekend of his appearances at the Side Door Jazz Club in Old Lyme. Payton and I went back and forth a bit discussing music, and he answered my questions patiently and eloquently and I got plenty of excellent material for my article.

Finally, signing off on my last email to him, I jokingly requested that, when he traveled to Old Lyme, he bring me some gumbo from Dooky Chase's, one of the finest restaurants in New Orleans, headed up by the wonderful chef, Leah Chase.

I was being funny.

Naturally, I'd planned to be in Old Lyme to see Payton play, but my Sainted Mom fell and broke her hip back in Dallas and I headed at once to Texas and just missed the Side Door shows. When my wife Eileen picked me up at the airport in Hartford, she said, "Hey, Fed Ex just delivered a box for you from Nicholas Payton."

Momentarily puzzled, I said, "Like, what? Did he send me some CDs?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but it's a pretty big box."

Only then did I remember the kidding request about gumbo. But, yes, it turns out that Payton — in addition to being a great artist and thinker — is also a very good and kind man. He did in fact send a big container of Leah Chase's chicken and sausage gumbo which, by the way, couldn't have been cheap.

Well, the gumbo is STILL in my freezer.

I can't bear to eat it — as in, once I eat it, I will no longer have any Dooky Chase gumbo.

Also, Nicholas freakin' Payton sent it to me! One of the greatest musicians in the world sent ME gumbo! And, if I eat it, the evidence of Payton's unreal gesture will be gone forever.

On Thanksgiving, I decided to forgo turkey and make what was admittedly a batch of fairly mediocre gumbo. Bless her, Eileen never mentioned the fact that maybe the best gumbo in the world is taking up quite a lot of space in our freezer.

Maybe one aspect of being a memoribiliac is a sense of gratitude and appreciation for stuff that needs a spot — a physical location — beyond a page in the ol' mental scrapbook.

As such, maybe Nicholas and Leah's gumbo will always be in our freezer. At least until I can figure out some other museum-quality repository for an otherwise perishable treasure.

And, hey, at least I'm not wearing the Neville Brothers tank top — in public or otherwise.