My mom saved her mother's favorite apron from the trash heap, threadbare as it was, and handed it down to me. I used the fabric to mat and frame a copy of a photo of my mom with her parents and sisters, circa 1952, and gave it to her for Mother's Day. That one will stay in the family.
I have the usual assortment of family photos and heirloom dolls hand-crocheted by my grandmother, and Christmas ornaments that I remember putting on the tree when I was too small to reach any but the lowest branches. Among big-ticket items, though, I have three:
First is my great-grandmother's piano, which was a wedding gift to her from my great-grandfather about 100 years ago. How I ended up with it, I'm not sure, since my grandfather was the oldest of 9 children and my mom has over 40 first cousins who could easily have claimed it. But one of the main requirements when we purchased our house last year was that it needed a formal living room that could contain this beautiful mahogany upright. Once, probably fifteen years ago, my parents decided to have it tuned, and when they took the back panel off they discovered the footprints of a small child in the dust. Those footprints could have belonged to any of my mom's aunts or uncles, but Mom decided to believe they belonged to her father, and there they remain to this day.
The second piece is my father's desk. It's a behemoth, leather-top desk, pockmarked with pen marks and featuring a spring-loaded tray that lifts into place, designed for a large mechanical typewriter. It's special to me because my Dad wrote his MA thesis at this desk, and it's also where he drafted the plans for every house I've ever lived in. I used to sit on his lap at this desk and he'd show me how to use his drafting templates to create my own dream homes. I remember the big IBM typewriter he used to keep in the "secret compartment," and when I open the drawers I remember the smell of the Sucrets lozenges he always had in the middle drawer. It's in my office and it makes me happy.
The third piece is my dollhouse. My parents built it for me for my 6th birthday -- well, mostly. They never finished decorating it, but we always said we'd finish it together. This is no Barbie Dream Home, mind you -- this is a 13-room mansion with a full attic at 1/16" scale (a popular scale in the 1970s, but hard to find now, which is part of why it's still not complete). It's 3 doll-stories tall (nearly 3 feet) and spans most of the length and width of the 4x8 piece of plywood on which it stands. It's in my storage shed, waiting for the day my kids are old enough to appreciate its history and help me finally complete a project that spans 3 generations.
I don't cling to small things, unfortunately.
Author
Topic: "Don't Ever Sell Your MR T. BALLZ" (Read 3432 times)