The past has always been something fascinating to me. Old anything – people, records, books, dinnerware – is to be treasured and preserved. I’m not really sure from where this love of old things springs. Maybe it is a characteristic of my creation alone, from the countless hours I spent as a little girl wandering around first my great grandmother’s house and then my dad’s mother’s house, looking at the weird amalgamation of stuff people collect over a lifetime. (yes, that makes her my grandmother, Grammy as she wanted to be referred to and was by my cousins, but that is a long story) I am a bit cocky to think someone didn’t help to instill this quality in me, though.
As Jason, his sister Angela, and I prepared to leave for Syracuse yesterday, The Past snuck up to join me. Families gathering together is a big invitation for memories of those family members not present anymore. Angela was showing me some yarn I could choose from to start this new knitting project I have in mind. I was searching through a big bin of yarns when I remembered my dad’s mother. She was such a crafter! She did cross stitch, crocheting, knitting, quilting; you name the craft, she could probably do it! When she died, my Dad was left the responsibility of following through with the wishes of her and my Grampy’s will. This also included cleaning out their house in order to sell it or at least to have new tenants there.
My Dad invited all of us grandchildren to go over and look around for anything we might want to save. Otherwise, my dad was trucking cartloads of stuff to the Goodwill or Salvation Army. He asked me to go over there many times before I actually did. For some reason, I just didn’t feel…entitled to paw through their stuff, due in part to the long story mentioned above. Finally. At his instance, I did go over and knew exactly what one item I wanted – my grandmother’s button tin. As a child I used to stick my hand in this tin to feel all the buttons slide around my fingers. I also liked to dump it out and catalog all the buttons, sorting them into piles designated by a gold color here, or a four hole system there. And most importantly it was one thing she had willingly let me play with when she was alive. I didn’t feel I was “taking” anything.
Now, as I was searching through Angela’s yarn bin, I remembered all the yarns, needles, and other craft supplies my grandmother had. A sadness rushed over me at the thought that I let them all slip away into forgotten-ness, off to a used good’s store for some other person to use. For one thing, needles are not cheap and my grandmother had collected as close to a full collection of sizes that 70+ years can afford a person. Secondly, it would have been one way for me to keep a part of her alive.
When my grandpa died, and when my parents closed their bookstore, I felt the same way. My parents gave me and my sister free reign to take whatever we wanted before it got sold in garage sales and donated. All I wanted was one knick-knack from my grandparent's house, and one poster from the bookstore's wall. Other than that, I had to just let go.
ReplyDeletethis was really beautiful, it's amazing how powerful memory can be.
ReplyDeleteI remember my mom had an acoustic guitar from when she used to play growing up and finally my dad was like 'do you want it or not?' and I felt I had to make a decision immediately, so I let it go. Then about a year later I decided to take up guitar and regretted not keeping my mother's for a long time.
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