When is the best time to sort through and get rid of stuff accumulated over the years? To keep myself busy during a 2 week quarantine at my mother's house, I began to organize some drawers and cupboards. I found it easy to discard old magazines, junk mail, broken office supplies and half used candles. When looking for somewhere to put away seldom used dishes, I came across the real antiques. These tureens and serving plates were used when my mother was a girl and are worth little today. Their beautiful shapes and patterns have been marred with cracks and chips: hardly something you would use for guests. But the memories... I decided to display them in a way that would remind my mother of all the family meals over the years. If something is worth keeping, then it is worth seeing!
I started to dig out more, ... next stop the attic.
I found an old electric train set we played with as children, original paintings, old photographs and letters! I read through my grandfather's old journals and started to appreciate all the handmade Chinese pieces around the house. They must have been lovingly picked out at some remote market place, then shipped back back to my mother's childhood home in London. Not quite the same as picking up a trinket online from Pier 1. The paintings were by a Yorkshire artist, Kershaw Schofield: not worth a whole lot, but apparently my mother remembers him as being a friend of the family. My father's family were the artists, and their watercolors already
take prominent place on the walls. The letters included a telegram sent November 2, 1959, announcing the birth of my brother Michael. And a mysterious silver filigree dish turned out to be a 25th wedding present to my grandparents while visiting China. By going through my mother's things, I was discovering her history. I was glad I had taken the time to research each piece before deciding its fate. I set some pieces aside awaiting my mother's return from hospital, so I could ask her about them. One such piece turned out to be my grandfather's napkin ring. (Everyone had their own in those days.) And seeing the dishes and silver tea service reminded her of all the people who came to visit. That led me to examine the old leather bound Guest Book more closely. Unlike most guest books, this one didn't restrict itself to one home, or one event. It straddled years, starting in 1942, in a war torn London, to today, making several moves along the way. Visitors recorded their home addresses from all around the world, many in Chinese at the time of Communist
takeover. My Grandfather was instrumental in getting many missionaries out at that time. There was even the name of Herbert Hudson Taylor, the son of the great Hudson Taylor (1832-1905 ).
It is too late to for me to start a guest book of this magnitude, but I am very conscious of finding a way to preserve the memory of all the people who have come into my life, and into my parents' lives. I can do this through the preserving of beautiful things with meaning and memories attached. I can also do that through my writing.
I do have a copper picture, given me by my very first class in 1982. (Before I was a teacher, but an assistant in Mrs Ardelean's 4th grade class.) . On the back the class each signed their name, and some added sweet notes. "June Paik - remember me." How could I forget? But one day one of my children, or grandchildren, will turn over this picture that hangs in my kitchen, and ask, "Who are these people, and how do they fit into my family's history?"
