Setting an Heirloom Free...
So, I'm supersentimental. When it always feels like the Past is slipping away, moment by moment, sunset by sunset, death by death, it seems reflexive to desperately hold onto mementos.
Don't get me wrong...I'm not remotely a hoarder. But...I do have trouble getting rid of meaningful objects. And it's in the attributing of "meaningful" that I sometimes go overboard.
Recently, I gave something very meaningful away. And though it stung me with regret just a tiny bit, all in all....it was the right thing.
After my grandmother Juju's death, and even while she was still alive, I amassed what I think is the definitive, boiled-down representation of that side of the family. Letters, photos, birth and marriage certs., the family Bible, personal items...most of it fit in a huge old Samsonite, conveniently.
One of my favorite things was Granny's dress.
Granny was Juju's mother...my great-grandmother...a hardscrabble Illinois farm wife who raised several children during the Depression and who, by the 1950s, had become a rather crotchety old woman, according to my mom and aunt. Hearing Granny stories always made me so intensely thankful that I was graced with two loving, interested, patient, influential grandmothers. But I suppose the circumstances of our lives certainly affect our outlook and disposition, so there was Granny. Though I always thought she couldn't have been that bad if she was willing to shake hands with dogs.
Anyway, the dress was a lovely, handmade, practical 1930s housedress of durable dark blue, flowered cotton. It had crocheted lace trim on collar and hip pocket edges, 3/4 sleeves and buttoned entirely up the front. I would've loved it even without the family connection, but it just didn't fit. Granny was a much littler woman than me. If I dropped 8 inches of height and lost 20 pounds...then maybe. As it was, uh...no.
It simply sat folded in the suitcase with the rest of the family flotsam, to be pulled out and pondered very occasionally.
But a few weeks ago, a vintage-loving friend from Ohio was staying with me. One night, we pounded many gins and tonics and ended up in a very girly state, trying on my clothes. As we went through the rack, we came upon Granny's dress hanging...I'd hung it up so I could Show and Tell when she came to visit. Next thing I know, I am telling her (with a slur, probably) to try it on. It fit like Cinderella's slipper and looked very sweet on her. So I found myself saying..."You have to keep it." And like that I let it go.
I figure, it's being seen. It's being appreciated by someone who knows and honors its history. It's going back to exist in the Midwest, where it belongs. And I have photos, at least. In the morning, J. was kind enough to go out to the chicken coop indulge me for some pictures right before I had to take her back the the airport. Seeing her in it out there soon quelled the hung-over, remorseful, "What did I do?!" feelings. I did the right thing. My mom and aunt were even cool with it...they loved the photos. Even if the dress was a little wrinkly in the moment.
A pretty great score for J., she has to admit. Imagine having seen photographs of, and known some real biography of, the person who actually owned and lived in one of your vintage clothing pieces during its heyday. Pretty unusual and rather special, no?
Fare thee well, Granny's dress! You've been granted a new life.
It makes me think about giving away Great-uncle Robert's snazzy, 1920s shoes, too.
Don't get me wrong...I'm not remotely a hoarder. But...I do have trouble getting rid of meaningful objects. And it's in the attributing of "meaningful" that I sometimes go overboard.
Recently, I gave something very meaningful away. And though it stung me with regret just a tiny bit, all in all....it was the right thing.
After my grandmother Juju's death, and even while she was still alive, I amassed what I think is the definitive, boiled-down representation of that side of the family. Letters, photos, birth and marriage certs., the family Bible, personal items...most of it fit in a huge old Samsonite, conveniently.
One of my favorite things was Granny's dress.
Granny was Juju's mother...my great-grandmother...a hardscrabble Illinois farm wife who raised several children during the Depression and who, by the 1950s, had become a rather crotchety old woman, according to my mom and aunt. Hearing Granny stories always made me so intensely thankful that I was graced with two loving, interested, patient, influential grandmothers. But I suppose the circumstances of our lives certainly affect our outlook and disposition, so there was Granny. Though I always thought she couldn't have been that bad if she was willing to shake hands with dogs.
Anyway, the dress was a lovely, handmade, practical 1930s housedress of durable dark blue, flowered cotton. It had crocheted lace trim on collar and hip pocket edges, 3/4 sleeves and buttoned entirely up the front. I would've loved it even without the family connection, but it just didn't fit. Granny was a much littler woman than me. If I dropped 8 inches of height and lost 20 pounds...then maybe. As it was, uh...no.
It simply sat folded in the suitcase with the rest of the family flotsam, to be pulled out and pondered very occasionally.
But a few weeks ago, a vintage-loving friend from Ohio was staying with me. One night, we pounded many gins and tonics and ended up in a very girly state, trying on my clothes. As we went through the rack, we came upon Granny's dress hanging...I'd hung it up so I could Show and Tell when she came to visit. Next thing I know, I am telling her (with a slur, probably) to try it on. It fit like Cinderella's slipper and looked very sweet on her. So I found myself saying..."You have to keep it." And like that I let it go.
I figure, it's being seen. It's being appreciated by someone who knows and honors its history. It's going back to exist in the Midwest, where it belongs. And I have photos, at least. In the morning, J. was kind enough to go out to the chicken coop indulge me for some pictures right before I had to take her back the the airport. Seeing her in it out there soon quelled the hung-over, remorseful, "What did I do?!" feelings. I did the right thing. My mom and aunt were even cool with it...they loved the photos. Even if the dress was a little wrinkly in the moment.
A pretty great score for J., she has to admit. Imagine having seen photographs of, and known some real biography of, the person who actually owned and lived in one of your vintage clothing pieces during its heyday. Pretty unusual and rather special, no?
Fare thee well, Granny's dress! You've been granted a new life.
It makes me think about giving away Great-uncle Robert's snazzy, 1920s shoes, too.
Comments
Post a Comment