In the neverending task of trying to pare down my household, I ran across these items.
This small pitcher was my grandmother’s. It is probably about 100 years old, and it was not an expensive or valuable item. I have no direct memory of seeing this at her house, I just remember Blue Willow dishes. My grandmother (the kind one) died when I was quite young. But I have always cherished her memory, so my Mom gave me this about 20 years ago, when she was getting rid of a few things. (Mom never really finished that job.)
This stein belonged to my German mother-in-law. It looks to be quite old. It was always packed away when my husband was growing up, it was not on display. But it must have been a sort of cultural touchstone to her, as she carried it halfway around the world through numerous moves. M decided to keep this. I don’t have that meaningful connection to this stein, but I keep it because he liked it.
Remember briefcases? Once upon a time it signified that one was a white collar worker, not a manual laborer. This briefcase was handmade in Mexico, it’s not your standard briefcase. M’s grandmother had it made specially for his dad. From the ranch he went off to college and became an engineer, hence the very nice slide rule. I’m not sure if he used it very much, it’s in pretty good condition, but since it was a special present it still exists.
These yearbooks were my husband’s. He did not want to buy them, but his mother insisted. In fact, he did not even know about the one from Hawaii. When we were on Oahu the first time, we visited the school and looked up the yearbook (Go Bulldogs!) The school was famous for having the worst American football team on the island due to a shortage of Samoans. These books were hidden inside the briefcase.
And now these items are part of my memories.
“People’s memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive.”
Murakami
