An old blue vase that sits on a windowsill transports me back to my Aunt Mary’s farm home in the summer. That vase, filled with flowers, sat at the center of her kitchen table. I can see Aunt Mary returning from the garden along a path that curved past a cistern where an old cast iron kettle overflowed with petunias. Aunt Mary would pause and pinch off the spent blooms and that pruning produced an ever growing and thickening display of new blossoms. Her petunias were the envy of the other neighborhood ladies.
A small wooden rocking chair in an upstairs bedroom is loose at the joints and in need of repair. My Uncle Loren would have opined that the same could be said for him when he sat in it on winter nights listening to the radio. One curved rocker is not quite a duplicate of the other; a slightly mixed pair, so to speak. But it suited my Grandma Smith just fine; it became her space – in today’s vernacular her comfort zone - during her last years. When she died Uncle Loren claimed that chair and I claimed it when he died.
The most useless thing in my garage is a scythe! It’s the sort of tool you might see in a painting of peasants harvesting grain. I have no use for it; it’s a farm tool and has no place in the city. It has two small handles called nibs attached to the main long curved handle called a snath; you gripped it with both hands. The nibs are worn from use by past generations. I remember my Grandpa Raftery swinging that scythe through the weeds in the orchard/chicken yard under our cherry, apple, and plum trees. The chickens ran for cover when Grandpa Raftery came brandishing that scythe; he could swing it with rhythm and grace for hours. Grandpa was a failure as a farmer but he was good at cutting weeds.
A favorite plate is on display on the top shelf of the china cabinet in our dining room. A neighbor of Jan’s family gave it to Jan years ago in gratitude for some kindness shown the lady. It is a gold-leafed antique that the lady managed to keep in her possession while escaping from Europe during World War II. Its exact history has always been a mystery, but the fact that it was precious to her transferred to making it precious to Jan. It never joins the other plates and platters that see use on special occasions; it is destined to remain safely enthroned on that top shelf for our lifetimes!
Our home is populated with pictures and objects like the four items I’ve described. We are supposed to be downsizing; moving from a large two-story home to a smaller and more practical condominium. Stuff has got to go! But letting go is hard. I suppose we fear that the memories imbedded in these objects will be lost if the objects are discarded - how can we keep the memories without the things that contain the memories? Letting go can be fearful and difficult if the memories associated with the objects are in jeopardy of disappearing with the objects - this explains in part the pain of letting go.