Thursday, February 1, 2018

Pitching You a Question, Reader Dear


Reader Dear, oh, Dear Reader, what does one do with all the pretty Christmas cards that have been sitting on display for all  these long winter weeks, until  now it is nearly the day for more cards (the kind that are filled with X's and O's and other sweet sentiments [These cards won't be nearly as plentiful, of course.  But they will make those joyful, bell-ringing, tinsel-and-holly ones look as outdated as pumpkins and dried cornstalks!])


Do I just pitch them?!

And while I'm at it with this pitching question:  What does one do with albums filled with a half-century's worth of real, actual, pick-up-and-squint-at-them photographs (plus all the scattered non-album kind) that have been repining in an overstuffed cupboard for years and years?!
Looking at the birdie
Most of these photos are not studio pictures (Dress up, drive to the studio, sit with head cocked at whatever angle the photographer orders, look at the little bird above the photographer's head, and smile as though you mean it).  That kind of photo was and is a precious and rare type and must be saved for all of posterity, of course. But what about all the snapshots.  What about the nearly faded-to-obscurity ones, where the photo was snapped by an amateur,  timed for a few seconds, ejected from the camera  and peeled from its backing to oohs and aahs of amazement?  What about those?!

Do I just pitch them, too?!









And here's yet another question to ponder, Reader Dear:   What does one do with all those items so old and rare and infused with decades and decades (if not centuries) worth of nostalgia that it's very tough to rid oneself of them?!  (I'll make a list, but it's going to be long, and it's going to get tricky [I still want an answer])

1.  Lovely old tin box containing thick curly locks of human hair tied in faded pink ribbons, hair that was cut from my mother's head when she was a six-year-old with Undulant Fever (Incidentally, this was the very year that penicillin was discovered, though not in widespread use; she had to survive the illness without it).



















2.  Ancient German books, passed down for four or more generations by the fine folk who lent their    DNA to The Yard Man, many of these tomes inscribed inside the cover with the owner's name (or names from each generation).










3.  Tiny tea sets given to me as a child, one set from each of my grandmothers.



4.  A charming couple of acorn-head dolls, handcrafted by the paternal grandmother of the Yard Man.


5.  A hundred-year-old falling-apart leather book-bag with my paternal grandfather's initials stamped in gold.

6.  Contents of book-bag:  Certificates and school report cards of my father (whose top subject was math, I note). A faded, barely legible, penciled essay on the importance of obeying one's parents.

7.  Ah, and so much more!*  Once again I pitch you the question:

Anybody for pitching?!

..................................
*Viewer Dear, must you see it all?!  The antique dishes?  The dolls?  The paintings? The woven baskets? The braided rugs? The wooden loom?  The antique lunch box?  All of the knick-knacks?!!  Aargh.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

No, you can’t pitch those things! Isn’t there someone else in your family who would enjoy being the keeper of those treasures? The cards can be donated to different groups, face only if there is no writing on the other side, to be used in some way. That is what I do with most of mine. I think everything else needs to be saved and if no family members want it, I am sure you can find a museum in that area who would be glad to take some of those things and be their caretakers.

KTdid said...

Thank you, Anony! I'm glad you counsel not to pitch. It is too hard for me to part with most of the stuff anyway, and what I can manage to get out the door will be donated one way or another. Q.

sk said...

But, Anony, dust-to-dust applies to things as much as people. Everything crumbles. There are not enough closets in the world. (Plus, refugees can carry nothing with them.) What MIGHT live on is something less quaint--our goodness and truth and love we spread around. The same can be said of our evil.

You're right, though, my fab friend Q, to donate to the museums if they can eke out space for some of this trove. Just so your youngers get first dibs!