Yes, but, if I could appear on Antiques Road Show, I could get a clue that might prevent some antique-hunter from going onto a later show and proving what a good eye she had when she picked up our treasure at a yard sale! I’m already annoyed, and maybe there are years before I need to worry over this … and then, maybe there aren’t. As an only child and the only remaining relative of my husband’s, I can’t help feeling responsible.
Fortunately, a long road trip with a granddaughter who brought up the subject of items from previous generations revealed that she has a real interest in them. I jumped to the conclusion that her sister might share this enthusiasm and saw a glimmer of hope for the jewelry that my daughter might not mind having, but would surely never wear. Who do you know under the age of 70 who would wear a 19th C. cameo?
Herewith a plea to anyone with helpful hints to pass along on how to deal with the objects that I hope have more meaning than their intrinsic value when we, their custodians, are no longer able to watch over or allot them to our descendants.
What if your ectoplasm ends up hovering over a squabble about whether to sell or store your maternal grandmother’s wedding present? What if no one has any interest in my prized first edition of Wallace Stegner’s collected short stories complete with a long inscription? So what, if no one wants that gouache painting of a nude? The artist was a friend, as was his wife, the model. I worked for months to pay for it.
I forgive them if they donate all those watercolors I did of barrier island scenery after visits with our closest friends on Cumberland Island.
Like so much that overtakes us in old age, fretting about what things will be like when we’re gone is a whole new ball game for me. I have an acquaintance whose faith is an example to anyone. After her husband’s death, she continued to take the long walks they used to share. She told a mutual friend that one morning she prayed that she would see three deer. If she saw three deer, she said, she would know that her beloved was there watching over her. She saw the deer.
Well, I didn’t mean to close on a maudlin note, but I wish the grandmother I knew, my parents, my wonderful mother-in-law, and all the other friends and family whom I love still, were available to provide just a little hint here and there of how much I should feel responsible for, and how much they’ll insist I must haunt my descendants if I make wrong decisions. Somehow, I don’t think deer will reveal that clue.
©2011 Joan L. Cannon for SeniorWomen.com
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