The Things We Keep

I have moved sixteen times since I graduated from college. I am now in the process of number seventeen.

Many of these moves have provided opportunities for me to sort through the stuff I’ve accumulated and make decisions about what to bring and what to discard for the next leg of the journey. I’d like to say that I’ve been wise and thoughtful each time so that each occasion is a simple exercise, dealing only with the items I’ve gathered since the last move.

Wouldn’t that be lovely?

While I certainly deal with those things, I am realizing that I have become quite adept in decision procrastination when it comes to a handful of categories of items.

The Heirlooms

I have a box of beautiful glasses from my grandparents’ house that has not been opened since I first packed it. Growing up, I thought they were SO fancy. I have golden-toned memories of Grandpa fixing drinks for people chatting in the living room of their house, and how he’d let me pick ice cubes out of the horrid ice tray contraption (they still sell them!) or tip the jigger into those glasses.

They’re happy glasses. I can’t let them go, but I’ve never been in a situation to use them.

In a slightly different subcategory are the old plastic knitting needles that came to me from my great aunts. They were used to create many, many sets of hats, mittens, scarves, and other lovely things for my sister and brother and me when we were growing up, and for many others, I’m sure. I tried to use one set once, but they were so old and brittle that they shattered (they were made of a hard plastic). So I don’t use them, I also don’t use the teensy lace-making crochet hooks suited for thread, or the lace bobbins I also have from them. I’m not keeping them for their utility.

The Memories

Baby blankets. Art projects. Stuffed animals.

I don’t know if you’re anything like me, but I have to deal with two dynamics when it comes to these. The first is that dreaded but common symptom of aging, memory loss. My sister asked me just the other day if I remembered a particular incident about my oldest child. I should have. It’s hilarious. It’s relevant. I don’t. I’ve got nothing. Tangible tokens are helpful visual cues to me and anchors for memories I’m nervous might fade away.

The second dynamic is good old-fashioned misplaced guilt. It makes zero rational sense, and I acknowledge this. But when I contemplate discarding something my child loved or was lovingly produced by my child, I see that child’s very young face, shocked with betrayal that I would even consider letting go of that object. In fact, this imaginary accusatory child would also like to know why this beloved thing has been put in a box for the last period of time rather than being prominently and lovingly displayed? Hmmm? Wounded puppy eyes are sometimes involved. It’s brutal.

The Moral Obligations

Sometimes you have to hold on to something because it feels like it would be a crime against humanity to trash it. I work really hard to place those things into the appropriate hands, and most of the time it works out.

I’ve got photos and albums I’m keeping for the sake of relatives and future generations who may want them. We’ve got some things to pass on to grandkids as they get older. And then there are items of Great Historical Significance. Like my nametag from when I worked at Blockbuster Video.

Seriously. I’ve kept that dumb thing for over 30 years. At first, I think it was just in a box I never went through carefully, but now it seems like an artifact.

Planned Obsolescence

I’ve never been a huge fan of the idea that some companies deliberately manipulate products so that their lifespan and replacement cycle is artificially shortened. But I am coming to appreciate that some things might only be useful to me for a limited time.

I’m thinking about this as I’m working on a sweater commissioned for a very young man. With a lot of sleeve rolling on one end of the range and stretching on the other, he might be able to wear this sweater for a year or so. And then its usefulness to him will be over.

His parents might choose to box it up and save it as a memory. They might choose to share it with another child. They might donate it. It might encounter a tragic but memorable end, suitable for inspiring an epic trilogy in the Annals of Heroic Outerwear of the Third Age and live on only in memory. Who knows?

But when you get down to the heart of it, it’s only meant for a short span of time. Its original, intended usefulness will have a beginning and an endpoint.

And then?

It may have found another justification for keeping.

Greg’s Got Questions

Thank you to those of you who participated in the poll last week!

The winning question was: Can you remember and share an example of when you created something far below your typical standard and yet were still very pleased with the outcome?

No.

Is that the answer you were expecting?

The truth is that this is an area where I have a lot of room for growth, as a coaching type might say.

I have perfectionistic tendencies when it comes to my own work. While that can produce lovely items, it can also drive a person batty. And it often risks missing something truly beautiful.

One of the best examples I have of this is the first pair of socks I entered into the State Fair. They were going to be perfect. Flawless. And I made them as exactly correct as I was capable of making a pair of socks, in a complicated pattern with yarn that was designed to show any flaw like it had neon arrows pointing to it.

I was so pleased with them. They won first place. Yay!

Then I gave them to someone I love as a gift. She didn’t care a whit about whether or not they were perfect or if they placed at the Fair. She’d have loved them if they’d been completely goobered up because I made them and wanted her to have them.

I have no idea where my blue ribbon is. I remember her face opening her gift like it was yesterday. So which is really most important?

I have more growing to do.

Greg’s Questions for This Week:

Here are the questions up for the vote this week. I’ll answer the winner in the next newsletter. (As a matter of procedure, the poll function takes you to another page to submit your vote, so if that happens to you, you’re on the right track!)

Question 1: Of your 17 moves, which was the most extreme for you? I’m thinking about the move that was the furthest distance, biggest upsize or downsize, most joyous, scariest, etc.?

Question 2: What did you enjoy most and least about working at Blockbuster?

Question 3: What exactly does “commissioned” mean in the fiber arts world?

Happy knitting,

Kiersten J