What will happen to grandads clock?

Family heirlooms mean a lot to you... but will they mean anything to anyone else?

Hi there, new subscribers! 👋 We are now over 1900 people who get together and share our life experiences. I’m honored you’re here! ❤️

It ticked with comforting, steady precision, gently echoing through the house. In the living room, the mantle clock that belonged to my grandfathers father gave the farmhouse a gentle reminder of the passing of time. Grandads thick, gnarled hands, muscular from work and browned by the sun, wound it with a little key. The chime filled the air, announcing the hour and half hour.

The clock, Greatgrandfather, Grandfather... handsome men.

I had the clock restored to its original magnificent condition and when I walk by it, I think of the people who owned it and the home it used to preside over. And who will own it after me.

Before there was such a thing as a tissue, there were cloth handkerchiefs. When my grandmother had to dab a sniffle or dry a tear, Nellie Lee had one of these at the ready. Soft fabrics in beautiful prints and patterns, some with fancy lace on the borders. She had a lot of them… and now I keep them in a basket. As a little girl, I would use one as a sheet for the bed in my Barbie house, or stuff them into my sleeve like she did. I just can’t part with them.

These are just two examples of things precious to me. Before I went to live in Philadelphia, I spent almost a week in yoga pants and a pony tail, carefully going through old family photos, scanning them all, putting them in archival sleeves, organizing them in well marked “museum” type boxes. My thinking was perhaps someday, my grandchildren will want to know what life was like when their great-great grandparents lived on the farm.

Grandad with his cap is in the wagon. The barn burned down when we were cleaning it out… heartbreaking.

Grandad behind the wheel of their 1914 Ford with his parents in the back seat. It cost $400.

I feel a bit sad that none of this will be appreciated by my only child. My daughter has no affection for the farm. She has long since moved away and created the white picket fence life I could never give her. Our relationship is cordial, but not close. It would be impossible to expect her-or really, anyone-to understand what the farm or these items mean to me and what the people who owned them were like.

To fully understand who you are, I believe it’s important to know where you came from.

Over time, wise mentors and patient counselors helped me with this. If it had not been for my grandparents, I shudder to think how I might have turned out. They were damned good people who loved me fiercely.

You can’t keep everything.

I get it. In the end, the clock may get sold at an auction. The pink depression glass I remember at holiday dinners may end up in a thrift store. The family Bibles. Great Grandma Mae’s sunbonnet, complete with sweat stains that prove how hard she worked. The rooster candy dish full of peppermints. *sigh

And, Nellie’s pencil holder… it was always next to a pad of paper by the phone.

And why would you want all those cloth handkerchiefs when you can buy a box of Kleenex? This is the world we live in today. Our kids have their own likes and dislikes. Many prefer an uncluttered life. Some rent and have a more mobile lifestyle. And many don’t have experiences with their ancestors. Some don’t want to hear about their family history.

But the clock!

I hope someone will keep it ticking after I have stopped.