Sentimental Journey

Yesterday we got an old trunk from my uncle's kaleevi. It'd been down there, under the stairs, for as long as I can remember. He told me that I could have the trunk and whatever was in it.

I don't know the last time I'd been under the stairs in that house, but growing up I used to love to play there. It was cool and smelled of spices. Plus, they kept the Clover Club potato chips in there!

When we unpacked the trunk, I found a couple dozen doilies my yiayia had crocheted, along with some blankets that had come from Greece when I was a kid (I think my Theia Eleni may have sent them to Yia yia when my Theia Sophie was there in the early 1970s, but I may have made up that provenance), and some frankly unattractive wall hangings.

Keeping the blankets was a no brainer - I'd loved them as a kid. I remember them folded neatly in the hallway closet, my Theia Mimi occasionally allowing me to run my hands over them, telling me how they were too nice (and heavy) to actually use.

We also kept one of the kitschy wall hangings as well - it's of George Washington on his horse, pointing toward the Statue of Liberty (who's holding her torch in the wrong hand!). I mean, come on, who wouldn't want it? As it turns out, my mom who insisted we keep it.

But it was the large pile of doilies - maybe a few dozen - that proved to offer me the most difficult choices. We're not what you'd call "doily guys." But each one of them that I pulled out was a connection back over the years to my yia yia. I remember the doilies around her house were annually bleached, starched and pinned into the carpet to dry. I remember watching her take a small metal hook to repair any damage. With a few delft knots they were good as new.

To be honest, these are amazing pieces of folk art - with a personal connection for me.

I narrowed the pile down to those I thought I might like to keep. I paraded them to Kelly, trying to elicit an opinion on each. The fact of the matter was he couldn't have cared less. But he also wasn't going to prevent me from keeping all of them if I'd wanted.

Kelly understands: I'm horribly sentimental.

The only advice he offered was to remind me that one day I would be gone and the boys would be left with a bunch of doilies.

That sealed the deal. I chose a couple of favorite pieces and sent the rest back to my mom.

Left to my own devices, I suppose I would have kept everything. Kelly's gentle reminder was a wake up call. My connection to the past may be strong, but my connection to the future is stronger. In (hopefully) 40 or 50 years do I really want the boys and their spouses or children to hold up a bunch of doilies and ask, "Do you want these or should we send them to Good Will?"

Yesterday I answered that question: unequivocally no.