Memory Keeping
“What matters most about the stuff we collect in life is the story that goes along with it.”
—Barbara Tabach & Polly Clark, Life Catching: The Art of Saving and Sharing Memories
My husband and I are on a de-junking campaign, trying to whittle down the amount of “stuff” in our house. We did this once about ten years ago and it was incredibly liberating, and the amount of space we created by getting rid of unwanted, unneeded “stuff” was a psychological booster. Too much junk weighs heavily, both on the work load needed to take care of it, and on the psyche trying to justify it. There’s something totally logical about de-junking.
And therein lies the problem.
The reasons for collecting in the first place are not based on logic. Stuff amasses, seemingly by itself. Perhaps there’s a modicum of logic in “I’ll deal with that later,” except this is rarely done as a matter of prioritizing time and energy and is most often procrastination, pure and simple.
But it’s not just a matter of lazily putting off until some mythical tomorrow what you really don’t want to be bothered with today. It’s much deeper than that.
Sure, some things are easy to get rid of—piles of newspapers, clothes that don’t fit or never looked good on you to begin with, or extra copies of something you rarely need even one of. And then there are the memory keepers.
Some items evoke the same strong memories that an old song can. They are time-transporters, zapping us back to some moment in time that gives that piece of “junk” intrinsic value. They connect us to people—perhaps people who have passed on and all that is left are the precious memories. It’s not that the items are the memories, or even that they store the memories. It’s just that they evoke such powerful reminders of the people and places in our lives that truly matter.
My parents are both gone now, and I’ll be the first to admit that some of the things I am having the hardest time even considering getting rid of are memory keepers for my parents. I’m surrounded by things that somehow keep me connected to them. There’s my mom’s Patsy Ann doll—probably 85 years old—that sits on a shelf in my office keeping an eye on me. Maybe it’s my reminder from my mom that everything I do should be done well and done “honestly” as she would have done. And behind me there are some of my dad’s reference books he used in his own writing. They remind me that writing is a worthwhile pursuit that somehow carries forward his passion for the written word.
And there are the letters I have dating back to 1949 from one to the other that have been the basis for two previous blogs. These are among my most treasured possessions—not only do they give me a window into what life was like for the two of them in their early years, but they also give me insight into what was so special about their relationship that it lasted 63 years until my mom’s death in 2010. Those letters help me understand my parents as I came to know them.
I also have three boxes of the remnants of a decade-long legal battle. My dad was one of a group of five business professors who were whistle-blowers in a complicated case involving the university where he taught. Despite ridicule from colleagues and others, Daddy pursued “righting the wrongs” for 10 years, with Mom at his side—and ultimately succeeded. I don’t know what I’ll do with those papers, but for now, they represent yet another very tangible reminder from my folks that some battles are worth the fight. Principles matter!
Granted, memory keeping can be taken to extremes. Today I was able to let go of a cookie press that has lived in my top kitchen cabinet for nearly 20 years—unused—and while seeing it made me remember having it as a child, I also remembered that I don’t think we ever used it more than once or twice because it was a pain to use. I don’t think my mom would mind that I’m giving it away!
I did opt to keep the set of metal cookie cutters that once belonged to my grandfather. Papa (my mom’s dad) owned the A&A Bakery in downtown Athens, Georgia, for at least 4 decades, starting during World War II when the previous owner heading off to war sold it to Papa for $5, saying he was the only one he trusted to take it over. That bakery was a very real part of my life growing up, and I’m proud to have those cookie cutters—even if they rarely make it out of the container they are stored in.
I guess the trick is striking a balance between keeping everything and keeping nothing, and realizing that letting go of the “thing” does not mean letting go of—or somehow dishonoring—the memory. Keeping the thing, however, carries with it the responsibility of sharing the memory, so that at some point years from now my kids are not shaking their heads wondering WHY I chose to keep some seemingly insignificant trinket. It’s a big responsibility, and an important one, as it can help them understand who they are, shaped by their ancestors, providing a foundation they can build their own lives on—and memories for generations to come.
“You have to know the past to understand the present.” —Carl Sagan
© Melissa Clark Vickers 2014
Back to Home Page
June 13th, 2020 at 6:48 am
[…] the treasures from that old chest now. A couple of them have already made it into previous posts—the Patsy Ann doll that was likely the only doll my mom had growing up, and the pen that her dad gave her as a […]