But just because it's part of a plan doesn't mean this is easy. She said that if the liquor cabinet hadn't been cleared out the week before she probably would have indulged in a medicinal tot.
I've been encouraging this clear-out but it wasn't easy for me either. Suddenly it seemed like bits of china and silver I either hadn't ever laid eyes on or looked at for years were the most precious things to behold. That gave me pause, because I've trained myself to limit the amount of sentimentality I indulge in. But I just had to put aside some pieces of china that belonged to my mom's Gremmy, the woman whose grandmotherly moniker I've taken but never got to meet.
When Goddy and I married, we specified no china or crystal, knowing that we'd soon be making an overseas move. I now bless the two friends of my mother's who ignored the directive and gave us a crystal bell and candy dish. "Every family needs some crystal," they said to my mother. "No matter where they live." Those pieces, and the fine bone china teacups my mother-in-law eventually gave me, survived numerous moves and who knows, maybe they'll be what my great-grandchildren pounce on.
It's got me thinking about what constitutes an heirloom. These things, pieces of stuff, keep the circle of family intact. Each time they are passed to another generation, a layer of love is added. It makes the cookies on the old plate sweeter, the tea in the fancy-lady cups more soothing, the grand dinners served on platters with faded patterns more satisfying.
I wonder what things will become the reminders of my life when I'm long gone. Will it be the crystal and china, or the funky jeweled duck that sits on my desk? Or the sculpture of Black Beauty that's always had pride of place on a mantle or sideboard? Will my pen collection survive the years?
And what about Ramsay? Are there more road trips in his future, perhaps until his colors fade and his mane is nearly gone?
Yes, some stuff is necessary. It's the choosing that's the hard part.
