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Polishing the silver was something women used to do “in the old days”, to relieve stress in difficult times.
At least, so I heard.
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Never having had much in the way of silverware, I can’t say it was much help to me in that way, although it is a very satisfying activity, returning something that is deeply tarnished back into it’s pristine, shiny form.
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Messy, of course. It will turn your fingers black and unless you have the right tools it can be frustrating.
Mum always used something called Duraglit which was a pad that came in a can, imbued with some sort of cleaning agent. You tore off a bit as needed.
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The only silver I ever polish is in a handful of picture frames and I’d tended to neglect them, because I was never satisfied with the job.
Deciding, on a whim, to look for Duraglit, I was able to obtain Silvo’s version which is basically the same.
It works a treat.
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It set me thinking about the other few odd bits I have, so I dug them out.
Remember fish knives and forks?
Sugar tongs and salt spoons? The spoon in a tea caddy?
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Grandpa Smith’s teaspoons.
You’ll note I didn’t put much elbow grease into the polishing because they were going straight back in a drawer.
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Purloined spoons.
(Not by me!)
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The provenance of this old frame is unknown.
It came from Grandma Willis’ household.
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Temple rubbings my mother did in Bangkok.
Over a lifetime you accumulate...
Objects of your own and those you inherit.
Luckily, I did not inherit much actual stuff because my parents moved often and tended to abandon possessions.
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Mementos are nice to have, if you’ve got a place for them and especially if they were important to the owner.
Ironically, the one item of my mother’s I would have cherished disappeared.
It was a heavy gold necklace that I wanted not for its value, but because Mum wore it all the time.
She was wearing it when I saw my parents off on their ill-fated trip to Tahiti in 1997.
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We had not realised it then, but Mum was in the early stages of dementia and the stress of the long journey affected her very badly. She had a fall and became quite unwell.
The travel agent who booked the trip had failed to arrange full board and my parents, having no credit cards, found themselves short of cash.
In the office at JFK, I periodically received faxes from my father and did my best to help sort things out. No news, I soon learned, was not necessarily good.
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Whether my mother sold the necklace to help pay bills, or mislaid it, or if it was stolen, I don’t know. My father never mentioned it and I didn’t ask.
The next time I saw Mum, I could see in her eyes that something had changed dramatically. I helped her get dressed one morning and was shocked at how much weight she had lost.
When we said goodbye that last time, I sensed I would never see her again.
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Of course, I kept my mother’s engagement and wedding rings, but the rest I gave to people who would appreciate them, as I believe things should be enjoyed, not stuck in dusty drawers.
As it happens, I had enough wall space to accommodate Mum’s artwork, but where it will go next I really don’t know.
It certainly isn’t everyone’s taste.
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What of my father’s stamp collection?
Someone, somewhere, would probably love to have it, but how does one find such a person?
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His photographs of Cambodia?
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The Hiroshige print he brought back from Japan is damaged from being folded, yet I have always loved it and surely someone else might like it?
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When we left Vietnam, Dad was presented with a lacquered wood painting that I have probably enjoyed far more than he ever did.
What will happen to it?
A few loose photos and those last two rings of my mother’s can be sent to distant relatives who may or may not want them, but the rest?
Does it matter one little bit?
This made me sad, because I find myself coming to the same concusions about my own things that nobody will want when I am gone. I have no silver to polish, fortunately, but I have a lot of ‘stuff’ that is of little interest to anyone except me. I can offer a suggestion on the stamps, which are very collectible. (I had a stamp addict friend who is now sadly deceased.) You can sell them easily on EBay, and if you don’t relish the stress of an auction, set a ‘Buy It Now’ price that includes relevant postage, and you will know that they are going to someone who will appreciate them.
Best wishes, Pete.
Lawrence Block, American “crime” novelist, is a philatelist. Who knows, unusual stamps might ring his bell. A fgood friend of mine has a house full of inherited, won, bought and forgotten, left behind by kids and even a turn of the (last) century inoperable pneumatic one man band monstrosity. He thought about what to do with all of it and decided “I’ll leave for my kids to deal with” as a sort of payback. I thought about scanning boxes of old photographs and about ten seconds later thought better of it. When I’m gone my daughter will have a garage sale and put it all the leftovers in a dumpster. Stuff. What a concept.
It is very common now to be left with “other people’s memories” – that’s a term I’ve just made up. My daughter has vowed to hire a skip (dumpster) when we have departed hence and donate useful items to charity with the rest going in the skip. As she decided, for health reasons, not to have children, there will be no-one to pass things on to. I fully agree with her. It is, really, just STUFF!
. Thank you, Carolyn, for the poignant post. Sell what you can or give to the senior school for their history lessons. The art pieces are excellent. A tip about cleaning anything tarnished – you need only an old toothbrush and the cheapest toothpaste to clean. Your hand will be clean and the items will sparkle. I am leaving my 10.000 books collection of all subjects such as science, history, biographies, and art, to the university. All books are in pristine condition
PS. I have also many Nobel Prize winners’ books.
Joanna
Does it matter”
The question always invokes Sassoon for me.
(Does it matter – losing your legs…)
https://englishverse.com/poems/does_it_matter
But your question concerns that “matter” we hold on to in our lives.
And the problems it poses.
That stamp collection for example. The “right” person would love that.
But how do you find such a person without endless time-wasting nonsense?
I have a silver tea tray – given to my grandmother on the occasion of her her wedding in 1911 by teachers in her long ago defunct school in Leeds (UK).
Who cares?
Our lives are full of received memories. Mementoes help to identify them. Age manages to rob us of so much if we’re unlucky. Hang on to your memories.