Why Didn't I Buy Heirlooms in Mexico?

Heirlooms and I

     The past six months have found me moving from one house to a smaller one. I was the end of line repository for my husband's family and my family heirlooms. Handling each one I needed to make a decision of what to keep. My Millenial daughter said, "Just get rid of all that stuff, mom."

Living in Mexico from 1995 to 2001

     I have been tying my blog into my family's story of living in Mexico. For this poignant story about heirlooms it wasn't hard to find something to think about or write about. We unexpectedly returned to the United States and when we finally settled and unpacked in Arizona, I realized that although I'd purchased many, many beautiful handcrafted gifts for others, I'd never bought one thing for our own family and now it was too late. All I have are photos, no objects. Yet this was a significant period in our family's life. NO HEIRLOOMS for the future. We don't think about the fact that we are creating the heirlooms for our grandchildren.

The Story of the Symbolic Quilt 

     Last fall I realized that I had several handmade quilts that are never used in Arizona's climate, so I decided to send them to my daughter who now resides in Michigan because I know she could really use them. One however became quite a symbol for heirlooms in our day and age.
     My grandmother had made this certain quilt in red, white and blue. I loved it. It was patriotic. It was made from seed or flour sacks. But it had a history. When a stepson was about 11 years of age, he was about to get caught reading in bed under the covers of the lower bunk bed late one night. He tossed his lamp, still lit, under "my" quilt on the top bunk bed and forgot about it. It smoldered all night long. A hole was created in it.
     Because I loved that quilt so much and it was the last thing my grandmother gave me before she died, I was devastated. Over the years I tried to find a seamstress or quilter who could repair it. I'd even tried to find matching fabrics for this purpose over the years. Alas, no one could tell me how to repair it or do it themselves until last fall. A friend decided we should try to salvage it by patching it and then I could send it to my daughter in Michigan. When the patch was finished and it told it's own story, we washed the quilt one last time on gentle cycle to see how it would do. It fell apart.

So the Story has Another Twist

    The materials used to create it couldn't withstand the repairs that had stronger threads. Now it sits in a closet awaiting a wall mounting, because it can never be used as a quilt again cuddling my grandchildren in harsh Michigan winters. Now only I will see it when I go into a room I seldom use. Only I appreciate it's history and story.
     The beloved heirloom was made from free easily found materials that were unable to withstand the test of time, it was treated negligently, it's burnt hole was after many years unfixable. Now the quilt stands as a symbol of all heirlooms who were made with love from perishable materials, then treated with indifference, put into attics, packed away until an "Antiques Roadshow" moment, left unloved under the bed or in a long forgotten box only to be remembered too late. Oh, let us not procrastinate taking care to create quality heirlooms for the future and preserve the ones we have inherited with care.

Remembering is Reverence

SCRIPTURE: “A Book of Remembrance was kept,” –Moses 6:5

            On my granddaughter’s first birthday and I wanted to make sure that I would see her, so I called and asked her mom to put her on the phone. Then I told her I loved her, and said, “Happy Birthday.” I got a gurgle of delight sound from her and my daughter said she began licking and kissing the phone.

            Earlier when I’d told my husband about my plans for some balloons and a cupcake for her, he’d said, “You know she won’t know what it’s all about; she’s too young.” You might suspect my response. “Oh yes, she will!” Let me clarify this by saying that her spirit will; and the little one year old will find joy and delight in the balloons, cake and photos, and know that her grandma loves her. She’ll feel that love.

            I don’t know how many birthdays I’ll share with her, but in celebrating each one I remember her birth, an ordinance day. The first anniversary of that event will set a pattern and be an example for her parents. For convenience sake, they may choose to celebrate on the weekend, with friends and a party in later years, but I want that little grandchild to know that the day when she entered mortality is special to me.

            Remembering and reverencing should be recorded. That is what our own personal Book of Remembrance is for.

MY QUESTION FOR YOU: When we show our children the family’s Book of Remembrance is it all just pedigree charts and family group sheets? Or is it really interesting with photos, or presented as a video or DVD?

            When we turn to the scriptures for guidance and instruction, we see the Lord’s pattern of what this book should contain. The scriptures themselves, each book by each author, is a history of sacred events and revelation recorded,  as well as of genealogies and patriarchal blessings proclaimed.

            Nephi’s statement, “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents,” begins his record. He reverenced his father, Lehi, and his mother, Sariah. He said that he was taught in the learning of his father, that although he had many afflictions, he felt highly favored of the Lord all of his life. He then says, “Yea, having had a great knowledge of the goodness and mysteries of God, therefore I make a record of my proceedings in my days.

            “Yea, I make a record in the language of my father, which consists of the learning of the Jews and the language of the Egyptians.

            “And I know that the record which I make is true; and I make it with mine own hand; and I make it according to my knowledge.” –1 Nephi 1:1-3

            We too, will write in our own words, select from our own experiences those things that we will include in our Book of Remembrance. We do not have to be a great writer; just write how we speak and our personality will show through for our descendants. They will watch us grow as we express ourselves from  a young adult’s perspective to our matured reminiscences as a grandparent.

MY SUGGESTION: Include photographs of forefathers in your book of Remembrance. Be sure to have interesting stories about each person. These stories could be humorous, giving insight into the unique personality of the person. Or it might be a story about an act of service, or how they met their spouse. Most importantly it should be uplifting, not embarrassing. Perhaps it could describe a lesson learned or have a “moral to the story,” type of ending or it could document a spiritual experience they had.

CHALLENGE: Pick one person in your second or third generation (that’s a parent or grandparent) and find a photo of them and write a paragraph about them to include in your Book of Remembrance. The idea here is to begin remembering your forefathers; turn your heart toward them in remembrance.

            Set a goal of how often you will honor one specific person in your lineage, in a “spotlight moment,” during the coming year.

            If your parents are still alive, it would be obvious to get them to select a story (see above ideas) and a photo from the time period in which it occurred, then write it up to give to you. If you set a goal of one Sunday a month to remember one individual ancestor in this way, you will have twelve delightful inclusions in your Book of Remembrance. Yes, I know Sunday is a day of rest, but what more perfect day to add to our book!!! We remember the Lord and his sacrifice for us on this day, so why not remember a progenitor for their gifts to us in our Book of Remembrance.

My Grandmother's birthday is next Sunday, January 1, she would be 123 years old. Her name was Anne Mae Gough (1 Jan 1889 Sullivan, Moultrie, Illinois - 5 Jan 1963 Clarksburg, Moniteau, Missouri)

Anne Mae Gough about 1930

Anne Mae Gough and me

I knew my grandmother loved me because even though we lived half a continent apart, she would send little cards and gifts. She affectionately called me her Lover Lady. After her death, when I lived in Arkansas, I talked with a woman who had known her when she lived briefly in Arkansas. She gave me a couple of her recipes, told me how much she loved her chickens and that she was a nervous sort of person because she was scared of thunderstorms. She would run down the street to a friends house when thunder began. But, I remember other things, like taking a bath in a large metal tub in the middle of her kitchen where she'd pumped the water out of a real "pump" in her kitchen sink and poured it scalding hot from being heated on her wood burning stove. I remember the "out house" and her garden and chicken coop. My sister and I helped her handyman, Chub, paint the house one summer. And I remember one Christmas running out to play in the snow and stepping into a drainage ditch that had been covered over with snow and how warm and comforting the big feather bed was that night in a room warmed by a fireplace. Another brilliant memory of that Christmas was Chub cutting off a chicken's head and the red, red blood all over the white, white snow. Grandma's most famous recipe of course was fried chicken. It was fabulous. Colonel...eat your heart out. But alas, she never did write that one down.