“I’ll waddle over and get it,” Domenic Giarruso said as he stood from the table and headed for the living room.

He did waddle, but then I marveled that at 102 not only was he able to get up gracefully but he knew exactly where to find the three-dimensional scene he had described carved in olive wood, a gift from two sisters who lived in a villa near where he was stationed at a base in Italy. His job was to keep B-25s in the air after bombing sorties over Nazi Germany in the closing days of World War II.

I’ve visited Domenic at his Cranston home on several occasions since meeting him at a fundraiser for the Rhode Island Honor Flight at the St. Mary’s Feast Society last year. At the event, Domenic spoke about his day in Washington during an honor flight. Afterward we chatted, and I heard how he worked in Quonset after the war and then for the state when the Navy pulled out of the base. I wrote up his story and told how even at then-101 he continued to repair clocks occasionally despite finding it increasingly difficult to pick up their tiny parts.

This time Domenic focused on an issue many of us face: what to do with all that we’ve accumulated, especially items that carry memories and have an intrinsic value.

Domenic unwrapped the piece of wood, not much larger than an 8-by-10 sheet of paper and two inches thick. There are random tiny worm holes across the intricately carved three-dimensional scene of houses in a forest and couple standing in one corner. Scrolled on the back in a flowery fading script is “Minei,” the name of the artist.

Domenic wants to find a home for the work worthy of its creator and the Minei sisters, who gave it to him. He contacted the Italian American Museum in New York, but they wanted documentation of the artist, who Domenic believes became a sculptor. But Google and AI haven’t turned anything up. He talked to the RISD Museum, where they told him they get numerous contributions but would take the piece and hold it for a year, after which if it didn’t become part of their collection, it would be sold.

He’s not happy with that. I understood why after hearing his story.

I was to learn that Domenic played music and when, if it caused no harm, bent the rules.

His connection with the sisters who were then in their 60s and Domenic was 22 was prompted by his “second love of music” [his first love is his wife]. He started with the violin but at the suggestion of a music teacher he connected with near the base [resulting from his ability to speak Italian] he switched to the clarinet. His barracks comrades put up with his practicing for a while and then started throwing their boots at him whenever he went off key, producing a shrill squeak. He had to find a place to practice and turned to his newfound friend, the music teacher. The teacher suggested the villa owned by the sisters, “which was like a castle,” recalls Domenic.

For a few liras he rented a room, a fact Domenic kept secret from his superiors, who surely would not have allowed it. As it turned out, the sisters were lucky to have him around.

One day one of the sisters asked Domenic to look at an abscess under her arm. It looked serious and Domenic turned to the base doctor for advice. The doctor asked a series of questions. The woman had unsuccessfully tried all the treatments he recommended.

Domenic pauses in this story, which already sounded like a stretch. I got the feeling he’s pondering whether to reveal this bit of information, but he goes on.

The doctor talked about a relatively new drug, penicillin, which he believed would combat the infection. The problem was that there was a limited quality of penicillin. Furthermore, what was available was reserved for American military.

Domenic asked if he would be eligible to receive the injection. The doctor nodded and Domenic suggested he be listed as the recipient. She got the injection and recovered. In appreciation, the sisters give Domenic the carving.

Now I understand why this is so important. The story makes the carving invaluable to Domenic.

I don’t see how the carving, as masterful as it is, can live on without the story. The artist is not renowned, yet his work is so meaningful to Domenic.

When one thinks of it, that is often what makes it so difficult to part with what others view as clutter. The items evoke memories, and it’s the stories that enhance their value.