I'm in the antique jewelry business- talismanic stuff. A story to share- A woman came into the shop with a very long, (maybe 4 feet), heavy 18k yellow gold chain. She wanted my shop to cut it and make 6 or 7 bracelets out of it. She shared that the chain had been sewn into the hem of the dress her great grandmother wore when emigrating to the US from Greece as a young widow with 3 small children. The chain was meant as insurance, a way to bribe people along the way as needed to insure safe passage. It remained intact, and my client had inherited this entire chain. To truly honor the family matriarch, this woman had enough jewelry made from the chain to give a piece of it to every one of her Yaya's female descendants. THAT'S how to do it!
I have a teensy ring made from 4 diamonds set in platinum that were part of my great-great grandmother's watch chain. She was wearing it when she drowned on the Lusitania, and it came back with her body. My one remaining aunt and one girl cousin each have a pair of earrings made from the chain, and now that my mother is dead, I have the tiny ring (that I'll have to figure out how to have altered).
Charlotte, I don't know where you are located, but I work for Maloy's Jewelry in Portland Oregon, and we would work with this ring sensitively and carefully. Feel free to reach out through our website, and I'd be happy to council you, regardless of where you have the work done. Another amazing jewelry story...
I remember going to the 26th street flea market and looking at a seemingly untouched drawer full of little things, which reminded me of what someone might find when any of us die. A few years ago,after my mother’s death and the sad necessity of selling out funky but cool family home of 55 years,I had to be pretty ,well, practical, going back to a 600 sq. Foot walkup.I kept some things,and whenever they get touched,they bring back memories….but less is more. Someone is going to empty out My apartment some day.
My maternal grandparents both immigrated from Norway. My grandmother on one of the last steamers out of Norway before they were all conscripted into the navy for WWI. Coming from a family of wealth she brought with her a trousseau of class, privilege and beauty. Many things that were treasured and meaningful. She married my grandfather, a man of little means but still created a lovely life for them and their 6 children. She was a concert pianist in Norway and played for the king. One of her children a child prodigy. She was an amazing cook who created all of the wonderful things that were her heritage to feed and love her family. Her tables were always beautifully lain with crystal, china and silver candlesticks. All my childhood christmases spent at that table. In the 70s through no fault of her own, a gas leak in the frozen road demolished her beautiful home and most everything in it when it exploded. Though rebuilt but without many of the items that surrounded her from her homeland, she passed away less than a year later. I have always thought that our treasures hold a piece of our hearts, I know they did for my grandmother. For me a beautiful oil painting, a china platter and a tiny dolly she gave me are all that is left to me. The memories of her fill me with joy, a legacy of cooking for loved ones (I’m a chef), a beautifully set table, love of music and old houses. Many other items of beauty stand in the place of the ones she so lovingly transported from Norway now but the love of all of these treasures rests in the memories she shared and passed on to me.
To answer your question, yes, this has happened. My mother wanted her mother's things and they disappeared. To stave this off, my mother decided to ask my sisters and me what we wanted, and she labeled each item, as possible, with the info. Unfortunately, even that did not work, as it turns out an unscrupulous sibling removed the labels and took what she wanted. As Erma Bombeck said, "Family: The ties that bind and gag."
I saw a pair of Sabbath candlesticks on Ebay. Researching the hallmark I learned they were made in Warsaw pre-1890. Silverplated. The seller did not know what they were- she found them in some thrift store in the Midwest . I rescued them for $50. They are precious to me. Some Friday evenings I light them for all those who were lost in Europe and were never again able to cherish their things nor bring light to their Sabbath home.
After my mother's death when I was 14, the material culture of my childhood disappeared. My father took himself off and I lived with relatives; when, two years later, I rejoined my father and his new wife, everything I had known growing up was gone. Would I have wanted HER (wicked stepmother) to touch any of it? It did include a set of Royal Danish silverware that was supposed to have been my bequest, but who wants to do all that polishing? It had been sold to help settle my father's debts. I lost mother (to alcohol and misery), and the things that had given our homes continuity across several moves went with her. It seems fitting a clean, if deeply traumatic, break.
When my mother died I was left out of her obit. I understood why. I left. I got away. And yet. The disconnect extending to the afterworld was jarring. Book writing jarring.
I learnt early on to never get too attached to ‘stuff’ as my father sold everything that wasn’t bolted down to keep up appearances. As a result I value experiences far more than things. No one, after all can take those away from you.
Indeed, Elissa. Although strangely, in my father's case it had nothing whatsoever to do with hurting others, just pure, unadulterated selfishness.
Hopefully you might get some pleasure from reading our newsletter. It's all about accumulating life enhancing experiences. They are the true 'stuff of life'.
My grandfather passed and as the primary entrepreneur in his lineage, I was looking forward to having some of his office pieces. In particular, there was a cash register from his days as an executive at NCR.
My aunt, his daughter, determined it was her duty to disseminate as she saw fit, and completely disregarded my requests as if they didn't exist. I didn't even get a reply.
She occasionally sends me knick knacks as a pittance, pretending she's doing it for me. Really, she's just doing it for herself.
It taught me to close that chapter. It was better than harboring hate.
Your posts often offer great thought and writing prompts! There are no "Things" in or from my ancestral families, maternal nor paternal. They never had the money, nor the time, for keeping memories. I need to think on this a bit more, though, because the two younger generations related to me have evolved from some different lines of ancestry and remembrance.
Thank you - It's interesting though: the immediate assumption is that there must be money when "things" start disappearing. In truth, those things can be as seemingly innocuous as a photograph, or a prayerbook, or a stack of newspaper clippings.
So true!!! I never heard of anything ever disappearing. I don't know if that's because they didn't bring anything with them when they came to this country. My mother was the fourth of six children. I never knew her father, who died when she was 18, six years before I was born. Her mother refused to speak English (thanks, Wella -- it helped me to learn Spanish!) and seemed resentful much of the time. We visited her extended family most summers when I was small. My dad, never much of a saver, was the fourth of five children; his parents passed away when I was still in grammar school. We saw his extended family from time to time, but weren't close. I'll be writing a more detailed recollection in my Substack newsletter about this.
Love your writing, Elissa, but I've been working my whole life to let go of my past. So, things that I can touch to remember simply send chills down my spine...I toss them.
Normally, so do I. But not my grandfather’s silver kiddush cups, which are of significant spiritual and emotional value, particularly since his family was largely murdered by the Nazis.
Devastation can be a slow burn. Losing my mom,and then our house…and then ,the final straw was losing her old Honda last year.I had never owned a car,which allotted me a lot of freedom. It just up and died on the road a few months ago.
Your writing always touches me. Thank you for putting into words the things that are so hard to put into words. My grandmother gave me a painting and it is dear to me. I’m moving abroad and was worrying over how to take this painting with me when my artist friend said, “oh that’s easy. Take it out of the frame, roll it up and bring it on the plane with you. You can easily have it reframed.” My parents doled out my grandparents things, but this was the one that I asked her for and I was so touched that she willed it to me. Anyway, thank you for the space to reflect.
I'm in the antique jewelry business- talismanic stuff. A story to share- A woman came into the shop with a very long, (maybe 4 feet), heavy 18k yellow gold chain. She wanted my shop to cut it and make 6 or 7 bracelets out of it. She shared that the chain had been sewn into the hem of the dress her great grandmother wore when emigrating to the US from Greece as a young widow with 3 small children. The chain was meant as insurance, a way to bribe people along the way as needed to insure safe passage. It remained intact, and my client had inherited this entire chain. To truly honor the family matriarch, this woman had enough jewelry made from the chain to give a piece of it to every one of her Yaya's female descendants. THAT'S how to do it!
Incredible story --- thank you.
I have a teensy ring made from 4 diamonds set in platinum that were part of my great-great grandmother's watch chain. She was wearing it when she drowned on the Lusitania, and it came back with her body. My one remaining aunt and one girl cousin each have a pair of earrings made from the chain, and now that my mother is dead, I have the tiny ring (that I'll have to figure out how to have altered).
Charlotte, I don't know where you are located, but I work for Maloy's Jewelry in Portland Oregon, and we would work with this ring sensitively and carefully. Feel free to reach out through our website, and I'd be happy to council you, regardless of where you have the work done. Another amazing jewelry story...
I will! Good to know, and I'm in Montana, so Portland is easy ...
I remember going to the 26th street flea market and looking at a seemingly untouched drawer full of little things, which reminded me of what someone might find when any of us die. A few years ago,after my mother’s death and the sad necessity of selling out funky but cool family home of 55 years,I had to be pretty ,well, practical, going back to a 600 sq. Foot walkup.I kept some things,and whenever they get touched,they bring back memories….but less is more. Someone is going to empty out My apartment some day.
Less, indeed, is more. Without question. But what if things just disappear -- and you know in your heart where they've gone -- it can be devastating.
My maternal grandparents both immigrated from Norway. My grandmother on one of the last steamers out of Norway before they were all conscripted into the navy for WWI. Coming from a family of wealth she brought with her a trousseau of class, privilege and beauty. Many things that were treasured and meaningful. She married my grandfather, a man of little means but still created a lovely life for them and their 6 children. She was a concert pianist in Norway and played for the king. One of her children a child prodigy. She was an amazing cook who created all of the wonderful things that were her heritage to feed and love her family. Her tables were always beautifully lain with crystal, china and silver candlesticks. All my childhood christmases spent at that table. In the 70s through no fault of her own, a gas leak in the frozen road demolished her beautiful home and most everything in it when it exploded. Though rebuilt but without many of the items that surrounded her from her homeland, she passed away less than a year later. I have always thought that our treasures hold a piece of our hearts, I know they did for my grandmother. For me a beautiful oil painting, a china platter and a tiny dolly she gave me are all that is left to me. The memories of her fill me with joy, a legacy of cooking for loved ones (I’m a chef), a beautifully set table, love of music and old houses. Many other items of beauty stand in the place of the ones she so lovingly transported from Norway now but the love of all of these treasures rests in the memories she shared and passed on to me.
Thank you ---
To answer your question, yes, this has happened. My mother wanted her mother's things and they disappeared. To stave this off, my mother decided to ask my sisters and me what we wanted, and she labeled each item, as possible, with the info. Unfortunately, even that did not work, as it turns out an unscrupulous sibling removed the labels and took what she wanted. As Erma Bombeck said, "Family: The ties that bind and gag."
Truth. Such destruction.
I saw a pair of Sabbath candlesticks on Ebay. Researching the hallmark I learned they were made in Warsaw pre-1890. Silverplated. The seller did not know what they were- she found them in some thrift store in the Midwest . I rescued them for $50. They are precious to me. Some Friday evenings I light them for all those who were lost in Europe and were never again able to cherish their things nor bring light to their Sabbath home.
This made me weep. Thank you. xox
After my mother's death when I was 14, the material culture of my childhood disappeared. My father took himself off and I lived with relatives; when, two years later, I rejoined my father and his new wife, everything I had known growing up was gone. Would I have wanted HER (wicked stepmother) to touch any of it? It did include a set of Royal Danish silverware that was supposed to have been my bequest, but who wants to do all that polishing? It had been sold to help settle my father's debts. I lost mother (to alcohol and misery), and the things that had given our homes continuity across several moves went with her. It seems fitting a clean, if deeply traumatic, break.
Extraordinary -- I'm so sorry.
Thank you.
When my mother died I was left out of her obit. I understood why. I left. I got away. And yet. The disconnect extending to the afterworld was jarring. Book writing jarring.
This was very interesting and beautifully written as is everything you write. Thank you so very much.
Lovely as always. Thank you.
Great piece, Elissa.
I learnt early on to never get too attached to ‘stuff’ as my father sold everything that wasn’t bolted down to keep up appearances. As a result I value experiences far more than things. No one, after all can take those away from you.
I do too. You’re absolutely right. And it continues to be astonishing to me how people love to hurt each other this way. Remarkable.
Indeed, Elissa. Although strangely, in my father's case it had nothing whatsoever to do with hurting others, just pure, unadulterated selfishness.
Hopefully you might get some pleasure from reading our newsletter. It's all about accumulating life enhancing experiences. They are the true 'stuff of life'.
https://marcoandsabrina.substack.com/
My grandfather passed and as the primary entrepreneur in his lineage, I was looking forward to having some of his office pieces. In particular, there was a cash register from his days as an executive at NCR.
My aunt, his daughter, determined it was her duty to disseminate as she saw fit, and completely disregarded my requests as if they didn't exist. I didn't even get a reply.
She occasionally sends me knick knacks as a pittance, pretending she's doing it for me. Really, she's just doing it for herself.
It taught me to close that chapter. It was better than harboring hate.
Your posts often offer great thought and writing prompts! There are no "Things" in or from my ancestral families, maternal nor paternal. They never had the money, nor the time, for keeping memories. I need to think on this a bit more, though, because the two younger generations related to me have evolved from some different lines of ancestry and remembrance.
Thank you - It's interesting though: the immediate assumption is that there must be money when "things" start disappearing. In truth, those things can be as seemingly innocuous as a photograph, or a prayerbook, or a stack of newspaper clippings.
So true!!! I never heard of anything ever disappearing. I don't know if that's because they didn't bring anything with them when they came to this country. My mother was the fourth of six children. I never knew her father, who died when she was 18, six years before I was born. Her mother refused to speak English (thanks, Wella -- it helped me to learn Spanish!) and seemed resentful much of the time. We visited her extended family most summers when I was small. My dad, never much of a saver, was the fourth of five children; his parents passed away when I was still in grammar school. We saw his extended family from time to time, but weren't close. I'll be writing a more detailed recollection in my Substack newsletter about this.
Love your writing, Elissa, but I've been working my whole life to let go of my past. So, things that I can touch to remember simply send chills down my spine...I toss them.
Normally, so do I. But not my grandfather’s silver kiddush cups, which are of significant spiritual and emotional value, particularly since his family was largely murdered by the Nazis.
Eloquent and moving.
Devastation can be a slow burn. Losing my mom,and then our house…and then ,the final straw was losing her old Honda last year.I had never owned a car,which allotted me a lot of freedom. It just up and died on the road a few months ago.
Your writing always touches me. Thank you for putting into words the things that are so hard to put into words. My grandmother gave me a painting and it is dear to me. I’m moving abroad and was worrying over how to take this painting with me when my artist friend said, “oh that’s easy. Take it out of the frame, roll it up and bring it on the plane with you. You can easily have it reframed.” My parents doled out my grandparents things, but this was the one that I asked her for and I was so touched that she willed it to me. Anyway, thank you for the space to reflect.