I went down the rabbit hole today and now I’m taking you with me. Why do we hold on to seemingly insignificant objects? Sometimes, a bowl is more than just a bowl—it’s a time machine to the past. I was putting away one of our covered plastic bowls. Every time I use it my husband makes a comment about it. He wishes I would throw it away. It is faded yellow, has food stains that will never go away no matter how hard it has scrubbed, and the lid is difficult to secure because of the warping of many cycles through the dishwasher. A smaller one, cranberry red, which nests inside of the yellow one doesn’t get the same disdain, even with the slightly melted and deformed edge, because it fits in the refrigerator more easily and is actually a good size. I remember there were a couple of others that used to nest inside the two larger ones, but they’ve been lost or thrown out along the way.
I will never get rid of them. The yellow one is the bowl that was filled with popcorn countless nights of family viewing of The Wonderful World of Disney. It was carted off to numerous potluck picnics filled with Mom’s favorite summer dish: macaroni salad. It held extra homemade cookies that wouldn’t fit in the cookie can. It contained freshly made rhubarb sauce that would disappear quickly and often made my friends at school grimace at the slimy, stringy, green stuff in my little lunch thermos. It is my childhood. The red one was used just as frequently, but the yellow one was an all-purpose-family-staple-for-various-utilities-and-situations workhorse.
The lids say Stanley Flex. My father was a salesman who worked his way up to the position of Branch Manager for Stanley Home Products. In fact, my mother attended a Stanley party in early 1960 which was hosted by a friend at which my father was presenting the product lines. My mother bought a mop, I think she said, or something equally mundane, and when my father delivered it in person, he asked her out on a date. The rest is history, as they say! There is more to the story, but I’ll save it for another post!
A few years ago, my cousin was kind enough to send me a flash drive with family home movies converted to digital files. These movies are priceless! I have watched them all through, and each time I watch them, I notice something new. Today, as I was looking for what took me into the files to begin with, I watched my aunt (my cousin’s mother, who was my mother’s older sister) open a Christmas present revealing a beautiful movie camera. I was moved by her emotion at receiving this gift. I don’t remember her being a very sentimental person, but it dawned on me that many, if not all, of the files that my cousin had sent me must have been shot by her. A very revealing moment of an aunt I didn’t know very well.
Immediately following that moment, I found what I was looking for: my grandmother opening a gift. It’s nearly out of frame most of the time, but there I can tell very clearly that THAT gift was a nesting set of Stanley Flex plastic storage bowls, the largest one a butter yellow!
We become attached to things. They remind us of the past and we frequently have more sense memory than knowledge about a thing that we want to hold on to. It wasn’t important that I knew where it came from or when we inherited it, so I never asked. But the additional awareness—and seeing with my own eyes the first moment of ownership—has only added to my attachment to these bowls.
And this was only able to happen because:
- The moment was recorded by someone who wanted to encapsulate it
- The film was kept in conditions that did not speed up its deterioration
- My cousin cared enough to have the obsolete media digitized
- My cousin took the time and cared enough to copy it and send it to me
And, because I have our media well on its way to being organized and searchable, I was able to find this very moment from over 63 years ago on my computer.
As time passes, our memories become more precious–photos, home movies, memorabilia—and they become more irreplaceable, as well. If you have been meaning to go through your collection of photos and memories but have not been able to find the time to do it, now is the time. We never know what is around the corner. These seemingly small tasks—like organizing photos or digitizing films—are truly acts of love, ensuring our stories live on for generations. If you need help, please contact me and I will help guide you through it or do it for you.
We can step out of the rabbit hole now.
How do these objects help shape our identity or connect us to loved ones who are no longer with us? What’s one object in your life that holds a memory you cherish deeply? I would love to hear about it if you would like to share in the comments!
