My kids would say I definitely have too much time on my hands – and they are probably right. Cautiously spending as much time as possible at home cocooning during Covid encourages over scrutiny of my possessions.
With a plethora of time on my hands, I begin documenting which of my husband’s and my possessions are just that: possessions. And making carful note of what are family heirlooms worthy of passing down – along with the back story of each item.
Our house is plant heavy, bursting with books and accompanied by an over-abundance of scented candles. Plants die. Books are replaced by Kindle. Candles burn out.
What’s lasting?
What has a history?
What tells a story?
Those are the items worth keeping and worth the time and effort to tell their story.
Take the curio cabinet gracing the front hall – do my children know their great Uncle Izzie hand-carved it? Do my kids know that there are some irreplaceable treasures amidst the junk inside that cabinet. And would they know the difference between the two?
Here are two separate items from the cabinet. The cup and saucer on the right is Royal Grafton Fine Bone China made in England – part of a collection of cups and saucers my grandmother bought with great pleasure and with money squeezed from her and my grandfather’s flower shop proceeds – proceeds which were often meager at best. The delicately flowered mini mug? Mass produced. Made in China. Absolutely no sentimental attachment. I bought it recently from a local second-hand shop for 45 cents simply because I liked both its petite size and the floral pattern.
Obviously, I’m saving letters from my dad to his older sister during the closing years of World War 2, when he was stationed in England and his B-17 crew were flying frequent bombing raids over Germany.
And obviously I’m saving swords brought over by a nameless relative when he immigrated from Russia around the turn of the 20th Century. (Regrettably, the exact details of the swords’ back story have been lost.)
And then there is my mother-in-law’s dining room breakfront bought with the $500 my father-in-law received from the US government after returning stateside in 1946. He had served honorably in the Army and was part of the troops liberating Auschwitz. My mother-in-law often said they needed everything when they first set up house keeping – pots and pans and dishes – but the dining room credenza stole her heart and so that’s where the $500 went. I cherish its presence in my home.
Okay, I admit. My house is over run with books, books and more books. I’m sure most of them will be donated to the library or sold for pennies at a garage sale once my husband and I depart this earth.
But there are a few very special ones that I am singling out as worthy of keeping.
From left to right above: The green volume of books contain paper copies of every single issue of The American Israelite during my tenure as editor.
The orange and the blue book were our first readers that my husband and I both read in 1953 at Bond Hill Elementary School.
Wedged in between: My mom’s tattered and old Settlement cookbook from 1955 – abounding with her personal markings on many of the pages. It’s a book where so many family favorite recipes were first discovered.
Coffee mugs chart family history – don’t be so quick to toss out random mugs denoting past events and family members.
I don’t necessarily care which of my kids or grandkids ends up lugging our stuff home – it’s more about choosing what personally calls out to them when I’m no longer here. And I feel I’m doing my part by telling the story of the things my husband and I have chosen to populate our own home.
And I hope by my writing this blog it jumpstarts you into giving some thought to what possessions are important enough for your heirs to know about and which you are okay with ending up on a card table labeled “miscellaneous chotckas $1 per bag.”
If our stuff ends up in a cherished spot in my loved ones’ abodes, I’m happy.
And if not? If our “stuff” ends up on a card table, piled high admist a bunch of discolored silver pieces and stained cloth napkins, grouped together at an estate sale, following our demise? That’s okay too.
Because I cared.
Because I tried.
Because I noted.
The rest is up to them.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom
Iris Ruth Pastor
PS: Here I am out at a voting precinct waving a sign for my son Harry, who is running for local office. This cute teenager comes up to me while riding his bike and asks about the election. His closing remark before pedaling off: “For an old lady, you sure have pretty teeth.”