A few months back, hubby’s mother downsized into assisted living. At 97 it was the best thing as she experienced a couple of falls that concerned her. This week she turns 98, two years shy of a century and is still in charge of her life. There’s really nothing medically wrong with her, with bones as brittle as steel, five falls and not a fracture to speak of.
She’s also as sharp as a pin but felt it was time to think about paring down to only necessary possessions and a more appropriate living arrangement to prepare for whatever might be ahead. One needs very little to exist comfortably so it's amazing how much we accumulate over the years, building houses to accommodate it all and filling rooms, attics and basements with stuff we don’t really need.
The entire process of picking and choosing what goes with you, a lot of the treasures you amass falling by the wayside, children deciding what they wish to take, and what is left gets sold, donated or taken to the dump is daunting. This was food for thought as I look around my home knowing that today’s taste of the younger generation doesn’t include china or antiques and I wonder what will become of my stuff? I plan to pare it down on my own in the coming years with garage sales, but what remains could end up unwanted.
I spent yesterday unpacking the items hubby shipped home after they packed up and sold his mother’s townhouse. Like Christmas, there was a temporary thrill as I opened all the carefully wrapped items; I do love china and anything of class and character; appreciating all the finery, craftsmanship and grace of beautiful things. But then I started thinking about the items I’ve accumulated and how someday, someone will be packing up my home and it soured the moment.
After my mother-in-law moved into an apartment in an assisted living residence, taking as much stuff that she could pack into her new digs, hubby and his two brothers were asked to go around her townhouse and put tape with their names on any items they wanted so when the house sold everything would be easily dispersed. Everything I unpacked had green tape and the initials G.L. on it and there was a sadness stuck to each item as sticky as the tape.
His mother wanted to give me her good china knowing I would appreciate it the most and I received five boxes to unwrap. That deal was back in the day when I was hungry for anything china but since then I’ve accumulated more than any one person would ever need so now in addition to the three sets I already have, the everyday Blue Willow, and two sets of china, one that came from my hubby’s previous wife/life and our wedding china, Moonlight Roses, I’m kind of up to my ears in dishware! It was exciting opening all the boxes though, but also disheartening, knowing my mother-in-law loved these dishes and had to give them up. In a way I envy her. Her items are going to people who will appreciate them. I know she cared about her things because she fretted that none of her boys wanted the huge dining room set with a table and extensions that could accommodate 22 people. A lot of family dining and friends gathered around that table over the years with good memories attached but the set was large and chunky with a Gothic style and no one had a home big enough to stage that mass of mahogany so it went to auction where it sold and after the commission she received about $300.00. Very sad indeed....
At least she knows some of her smaller treasures will be appreciated and used by her kin. I might not have that luxury. Today’s generation doesn’t go for all that fluff, pomp and circumstance, and sit down dining is becoming extinct, a thing of the past. I know Shane’s wife Ashley likes china but there’s going to be an awful lot of it, so I can’t expect it all to fit their lifestyle.
The monogrammed sterling teaspoons from Birks were especially hard to see. I love silver, but the engraved initials speak volumes of loss. Monograms always reminded me of how fragile and short life is, not something we care to think about on a daily basis. Back in my hunting days, perusing the antique stores and flea markets, I’ve seen beautiful silver dishes and platters perfect for the crow in me, but the monograms turned me cold. It felt like picking at the bones of the dead, stealing from them. Even if the monogram was an “L” I walked away, knowing unloading it someday would be difficult.
One of the treasures we received was a covered cheese plate that belonged to my mother-in-law’s mother, on the back was taped the word Canning, her maiden name. It is still in perfect condition, not a chip or scratch on it.
Packed in the boxes were some of the items we gave his parents for presents over the years. I never give a gift that without careful thought. I think I have decent taste so I gauge whether I would want this for myself to guarantee it will be valued. So quality items were returned to sender in the form of Birdsall Worthington vases and pottery dishes. I unwrapped her set of Royal Albert Petit Point china, eight place settings and all the serving extras, cake plate, cream and sugar, teapot and gravy boat. I don’t have extra storage for it all but couldn’t stand to see it given away to someone that wouldn’t appreciate it or see it sold for a pittance. I’ll make room, displacing stuff I really don’t need and haven’t used in years, stuff to cart out to the garage for a big sale in the spring.
I wanted to begin downsizing over the next couple of years while I can do it on my own terms, but I seem to be accumulating more stuff that comes with a family duty to care for. My poor son having to deal with all of this someday, quite frankly, I hope I’m dead when my stuff is picked over, I won’t have to see how meaningless my purchases were to a new generation of pickers. I’m from a time that likes a lovely table setting, has a dining room table to entertain on. Today’s homes don’t even have that extra room let alone cupboards to store all of the paraphernalia that goes with formal dining. Unless you’re an old soul, young adults don’t care about polishing silver and drinking out of crystal glasses, serving platters and linen napkins. Everything today is disposable and meant for quick, carefree living. Once my generation has passed, elaborately set tables will become a faded memory.
I think perhaps I should use all the china stowed away, perhaps rotate it on a daily basis, get our money’s worth before it’s tossed. Not worry about breakage and scratches. Like saving your virginity, where does that get you? Allow it the purpose it was designed for. Use it up until nothing remains, and revel in the joy it brings today, not wait for a special occasion that might never come.
So I will make room for this new stuff of the generation before me, happy to have a part of my hubby’s past and try not to think how all my treasures will be someone’s unwanted wares to deal with. Am I sad? Of course, what I’ve loved will mean nothing. I spent good money for the items I have, in a time when they still meant something. If I could do things over with the smarts of gained experience I have now, my house would look a hell of a lot different; smaller and fit for a minimalist. I’ve been asked occasional if I could go back would I change anything and I say, “Not really”. Not in life experiences anyway, it made me who I am today and I’m happy with that, but I would care less about possessions, not worry about making my surroundings just so. A house guest once told me, “Your home might be nice Christine, but if you ever get cancer, it won’t mean a GD thing!” I saw a back-handed compliment in there and smiled but I don’t fully agree, a home is where comfort abides, and I’d be happy to leave this world from the cushions of my sofa surrounded by familiar, pretty things over a sterile, characterless and cold room of a hospital.
This morning I broke a pilsner glass. Moons ago, I’d bought a set of four at a flea market. They are crystal and lovely and probably expensive, perhaps an unwanted wedding gift or from an estate. Obviously, there wasn't much appreciation for them displayed among the lego, CD’s, ashtrays and bric a brac. I walked away with a steal of a deal and a big ole smile.
Now one is broken and I looked at the glass on the floor and instead of whining and going into a rant about losing one of my lovelies and how I'm a clumsy ofe, I thought to myself, “One less to dispose of, only three more to break.” Anyone who knows me would say, “Who are you and what did you do with Christine?!” I’ll admit this attitude is a lot less stressful than always being in protective mode. Carefully washing, drying and storing them, after begrudging their use in the first place. And all that worry that goes with seeing them plunked down a little too heavy on the tiled counter by guests that don’t realize they hold my holy grail. The old Christine believed in a set of even numbers, like four, eight, ten or twelve and would have been embarrassed being forced into the common, asymmetrical world of mismatched and eclectic. I think I like this new Christine far better!
Now-a- days, you can’t give china or silver away and antique furniture, built to last, is heavy, dark and gloomy to the new generation that goes for over-stuff and mass produced. Everything does have a time and like bell bottoms, class and finery will come back but not soon enough for me. Not much of what I’ve accumulated will be wanted in this new disposable world. I’ve accepted it’s too late for my stuff; someday it will be resting in the landfill, on the wrong side of the grass just like me. I don’t mean to sound maudlin, it's a fact of life that's better accepted than denied to give us time to prepare so we don't leave a burden behind. I've been getting rid of things, there's a pile of stuff in the garage waiting for a big yard sale in the spring and what remains I'll be using, getting something out of it besides dusting and keeping it safe.
She’s also as sharp as a pin but felt it was time to think about paring down to only necessary possessions and a more appropriate living arrangement to prepare for whatever might be ahead. One needs very little to exist comfortably so it's amazing how much we accumulate over the years, building houses to accommodate it all and filling rooms, attics and basements with stuff we don’t really need.
The entire process of picking and choosing what goes with you, a lot of the treasures you amass falling by the wayside, children deciding what they wish to take, and what is left gets sold, donated or taken to the dump is daunting. This was food for thought as I look around my home knowing that today’s taste of the younger generation doesn’t include china or antiques and I wonder what will become of my stuff? I plan to pare it down on my own in the coming years with garage sales, but what remains could end up unwanted.
I spent yesterday unpacking the items hubby shipped home after they packed up and sold his mother’s townhouse. Like Christmas, there was a temporary thrill as I opened all the carefully wrapped items; I do love china and anything of class and character; appreciating all the finery, craftsmanship and grace of beautiful things. But then I started thinking about the items I’ve accumulated and how someday, someone will be packing up my home and it soured the moment.
After my mother-in-law moved into an apartment in an assisted living residence, taking as much stuff that she could pack into her new digs, hubby and his two brothers were asked to go around her townhouse and put tape with their names on any items they wanted so when the house sold everything would be easily dispersed. Everything I unpacked had green tape and the initials G.L. on it and there was a sadness stuck to each item as sticky as the tape.
His mother wanted to give me her good china knowing I would appreciate it the most and I received five boxes to unwrap. That deal was back in the day when I was hungry for anything china but since then I’ve accumulated more than any one person would ever need so now in addition to the three sets I already have, the everyday Blue Willow, and two sets of china, one that came from my hubby’s previous wife/life and our wedding china, Moonlight Roses, I’m kind of up to my ears in dishware! It was exciting opening all the boxes though, but also disheartening, knowing my mother-in-law loved these dishes and had to give them up. In a way I envy her. Her items are going to people who will appreciate them. I know she cared about her things because she fretted that none of her boys wanted the huge dining room set with a table and extensions that could accommodate 22 people. A lot of family dining and friends gathered around that table over the years with good memories attached but the set was large and chunky with a Gothic style and no one had a home big enough to stage that mass of mahogany so it went to auction where it sold and after the commission she received about $300.00. Very sad indeed....
At least she knows some of her smaller treasures will be appreciated and used by her kin. I might not have that luxury. Today’s generation doesn’t go for all that fluff, pomp and circumstance, and sit down dining is becoming extinct, a thing of the past. I know Shane’s wife Ashley likes china but there’s going to be an awful lot of it, so I can’t expect it all to fit their lifestyle.
The monogrammed sterling teaspoons from Birks were especially hard to see. I love silver, but the engraved initials speak volumes of loss. Monograms always reminded me of how fragile and short life is, not something we care to think about on a daily basis. Back in my hunting days, perusing the antique stores and flea markets, I’ve seen beautiful silver dishes and platters perfect for the crow in me, but the monograms turned me cold. It felt like picking at the bones of the dead, stealing from them. Even if the monogram was an “L” I walked away, knowing unloading it someday would be difficult.
One of the treasures we received was a covered cheese plate that belonged to my mother-in-law’s mother, on the back was taped the word Canning, her maiden name. It is still in perfect condition, not a chip or scratch on it.
Packed in the boxes were some of the items we gave his parents for presents over the years. I never give a gift that without careful thought. I think I have decent taste so I gauge whether I would want this for myself to guarantee it will be valued. So quality items were returned to sender in the form of Birdsall Worthington vases and pottery dishes. I unwrapped her set of Royal Albert Petit Point china, eight place settings and all the serving extras, cake plate, cream and sugar, teapot and gravy boat. I don’t have extra storage for it all but couldn’t stand to see it given away to someone that wouldn’t appreciate it or see it sold for a pittance. I’ll make room, displacing stuff I really don’t need and haven’t used in years, stuff to cart out to the garage for a big sale in the spring.
I wanted to begin downsizing over the next couple of years while I can do it on my own terms, but I seem to be accumulating more stuff that comes with a family duty to care for. My poor son having to deal with all of this someday, quite frankly, I hope I’m dead when my stuff is picked over, I won’t have to see how meaningless my purchases were to a new generation of pickers. I’m from a time that likes a lovely table setting, has a dining room table to entertain on. Today’s homes don’t even have that extra room let alone cupboards to store all of the paraphernalia that goes with formal dining. Unless you’re an old soul, young adults don’t care about polishing silver and drinking out of crystal glasses, serving platters and linen napkins. Everything today is disposable and meant for quick, carefree living. Once my generation has passed, elaborately set tables will become a faded memory.
I think perhaps I should use all the china stowed away, perhaps rotate it on a daily basis, get our money’s worth before it’s tossed. Not worry about breakage and scratches. Like saving your virginity, where does that get you? Allow it the purpose it was designed for. Use it up until nothing remains, and revel in the joy it brings today, not wait for a special occasion that might never come.
So I will make room for this new stuff of the generation before me, happy to have a part of my hubby’s past and try not to think how all my treasures will be someone’s unwanted wares to deal with. Am I sad? Of course, what I’ve loved will mean nothing. I spent good money for the items I have, in a time when they still meant something. If I could do things over with the smarts of gained experience I have now, my house would look a hell of a lot different; smaller and fit for a minimalist. I’ve been asked occasional if I could go back would I change anything and I say, “Not really”. Not in life experiences anyway, it made me who I am today and I’m happy with that, but I would care less about possessions, not worry about making my surroundings just so. A house guest once told me, “Your home might be nice Christine, but if you ever get cancer, it won’t mean a GD thing!” I saw a back-handed compliment in there and smiled but I don’t fully agree, a home is where comfort abides, and I’d be happy to leave this world from the cushions of my sofa surrounded by familiar, pretty things over a sterile, characterless and cold room of a hospital.
This morning I broke a pilsner glass. Moons ago, I’d bought a set of four at a flea market. They are crystal and lovely and probably expensive, perhaps an unwanted wedding gift or from an estate. Obviously, there wasn't much appreciation for them displayed among the lego, CD’s, ashtrays and bric a brac. I walked away with a steal of a deal and a big ole smile.
Now one is broken and I looked at the glass on the floor and instead of whining and going into a rant about losing one of my lovelies and how I'm a clumsy ofe, I thought to myself, “One less to dispose of, only three more to break.” Anyone who knows me would say, “Who are you and what did you do with Christine?!” I’ll admit this attitude is a lot less stressful than always being in protective mode. Carefully washing, drying and storing them, after begrudging their use in the first place. And all that worry that goes with seeing them plunked down a little too heavy on the tiled counter by guests that don’t realize they hold my holy grail. The old Christine believed in a set of even numbers, like four, eight, ten or twelve and would have been embarrassed being forced into the common, asymmetrical world of mismatched and eclectic. I think I like this new Christine far better!
Now-a- days, you can’t give china or silver away and antique furniture, built to last, is heavy, dark and gloomy to the new generation that goes for over-stuff and mass produced. Everything does have a time and like bell bottoms, class and finery will come back but not soon enough for me. Not much of what I’ve accumulated will be wanted in this new disposable world. I’ve accepted it’s too late for my stuff; someday it will be resting in the landfill, on the wrong side of the grass just like me. I don’t mean to sound maudlin, it's a fact of life that's better accepted than denied to give us time to prepare so we don't leave a burden behind. I've been getting rid of things, there's a pile of stuff in the garage waiting for a big yard sale in the spring and what remains I'll be using, getting something out of it besides dusting and keeping it safe.
A family heirloom. Covered cheese plate.
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