Last one, I promise!
The revolver is the first Ruger Bisley .22 I ever saw, and it came into a gun shop in Council Bluffs, Iowa. My friend Tom beat me to it, and for years, I tried to talk him out of it, but to no avail. He wasn't letting it go.
Eventually, I soured on Midwestern winters, and moved back to Alabama, where I belong. We stayed in touch, but work, families, and 1100 miles distance made it tough. One day his wife called me, to tell me that he'd been diagnosed with liver cancer (from frequent and prolonged exposure to Agent Orange during his Southeast Asian Vacation) and he had, at most, a year left. I made it up to see him a couple of times, but the cancer won, in the end. After his funeral, his wife told me that he'd left something for me, and asked me to drop by the house before I left town. It was this Ruger, in the original box, with all the original paperwork and manual, and a handwritten note that said "Alright, you persistent SOB, you win! You can have the damned old gun!"
The knife is one that I bought for my dad, to tease him about killing the smallest 6-point buck I've ever seen. I told him that if he was going to kill little-bitty deer, he needed a little-bitty knife to dress them with. When he passed away, Mom gave it back to me, telling me that he'd never used it, but kept it oiled and showed it off to all his friends, being sure to tell them that it was made in Alabama.
These are probably not leaving as long as I'm above ground.