Are keepsakes trash or heirlooms?

Many members of the newest generation of adults are practicing minimalism. By contrast, some of them describe their parents or grandparents as hoarders.

Sometimes I bemoan the “junk” and promise myself to clean out the closets, store room and garage. Over more than six decades of life, I’ve accumulated many things. Most of my furniture and larger items are heirlooms or hand-medowns, depending on your perspective. I proudly own a bed that was my greatgrandmother’s and have the bedspread with a quilted top that she made from my great-grandfather’s ties. But, I don’t display it for fear of animals or grands damaging it.

My bookshelves are full of books I read as a child, books that once graced the bookshelves at my grandparent’s home. In yielding to the minimalism mentality, I’ve parted with many books. In retrospect, I regret some of those with which I’ve parted.

There are cookbooks on my shelf that I’ve enjoyed and saved and planned to pass on to my daughters and granddaughters. Several have hand-written notes from my mother and grandmother in them. Some of my daughters say they are not interested and that they can find everything they need on the internet.

What happens if the internet fails?! And, isn’t there something special about a recipe that’s been shared through the generations of family? Each family has its own unique interpretation on foods and that’s part of what helps us form our identities.

My mother and grandmother saved everything and, in cleaning out their belongings, many things came to me. If I read and prescribe to the philosophy of the minimalists, I’d cherish the memories but give up the physical items.

When my mother was moving from her large house to a small house, my brother and daughters and I tried to help. She really didn’t want to part with anything, including purple mimeographed school papers that she thought would benefit a teacher today. She had spent the majority of her life teaching children and knew the angst of needing and wanting supplies but being limited by finances. She couldn’t grasp that those papers would be of no value to today’s modern teachers.

But, that taught me a lesson, Mother cherished things to give, to remember, to share. Every item, including chipped China cups resurrected a memory of her grandmother, long since departed.

Thanks to my grandmother and mother, I own and wore Mother’s wedding gown and her debutante gown. None of my daughters have worn either. I’m hoping my granddaughters will be interested. One of my nieces had her photograph taken in the Cotillion gown.

I recently encountered the domicile of a true hoarder. It was a mess. There was a path through mountains of items throughout the entire house. The owner had purchased multiple items at garage and estate sales. These were not items of cherished family sentimentality, they were items purchased with thoughts of selling. But, they collected until such a mess was amassed that the house could not possibly be lived in.

I definitely see value in minimalism, in setting priorities in making memories, not in one’s value being found in possessions.

There is also value in heirlooms. There’s something comforting in holding a quilt made by my greatgrandmother and contemplating her thoughts and her life when she made it, in remembering her and her faith and her influence on me.

It’s strangely mesmerizing to pick up a recipe card stained and faded that was written by my grandmother in her fluid cursive and make the dishes that I remember her serving to me. It transports me to her kitchen in Shreveport and reminds me that I was loved and that family was (and is) important.

Life did not begin with me. My family did not begin with me. I am but a part, a vessel, of a larger family, a bigger scene than I can see. When I recognize that, when I stop seeing life myopically, I can truly give of myself and all I have to bless others, to flow into the next generation or two or three.