One of the writing exercises we do as part of the Discovering your Spiritual Autobiography Workshop is to reflect on a keepsake or one’s legacy. Here is the exercise introduction: 

Keepsake

-an item or collection of items with special meaning, an item retained because of an emotional bond or memory

Legacy

-something from past generations

As humans, we attach meaning to objects. These items serve many different functions: a part of our identity, a repository of our history, a source of comfort and security, and more. 

My birthday was this past week, and my inspired action was to clean my desk. It had become a jumble of books to read, ‘reference’ books, notes written on the fly to transcribe, business cards of people to follow up with, and the sweet birthday greetings from family and friends. If not the day commemorating my birth then when would be a good time to clean up. Full disclosure, there may have been an element of procrastination involved, avoidance of another project on my to-do list. Raise your hand if you can relate. In this act of cleaning and clearing, I was once again reminded of how easy it is to accumulate stuff.

Then this week’s workshop prompt was to reflect on something I have held on to, a keepsake. I pivoted away from physical items and leaned into my legacy. The keepsake of a value instilled in me by my grandparents. The legacy of fixing things that were broken and not wasting anything. My mom tells the story of her in-laws coming to visit us at our new house shortly after I was born. As Mom began to make the salad for dinner, my Grandma Connie was fishing the discarded lettuce leaves from the trash can to add to her own portion of salad. Clearly, the two women had a different opinion of what was an edible lettuce leaf. 

In my own adulthood, I remember the first time I had owned a small appliance long enough for it to stop working. It was a fantastic electric juicer. One day it worked, the next day it didn’t. No problem, I am going to get it repaired. At the local repair shop, which no longer exists, it was pointed out to me that the motor was completely encased in plastic with no means to access it. I left crestfallen. How was to continue to live out the legacy so vividly passed down to me?

Rest assured, I found a way. Jars of peanut butter, there are few people I know who can get as much from one jar as I can. Using a small spatula as the last remnants tuck themselves just at the base of the jar or in the curve below the threads that hold on to the lid. Taking sweaters that have served as a buffet to the moths in my closet to the reweaver who performs miracles on holes big and small. Resoling shoes until the resourceful cobbler holds up his hands in surrender. 

In a world of disposable juicers, printers, hair dryers, and even the big appliances, I am able to pay homage to the values of those who came before through these simple acts. I worry because one day the reweaver is going to stop performing her magic. My favorite shoe repair shop already lost their best craftspeople to retirement. Our local dry cleaning professionals who could make even the most stubborn stains disappear sold the shop. I don’t begrudge anyone a retirement or the chance to sell your business. I will miss the people who have helped me as I continue to live out my legacy which at this point feels like an act of rebellion in this disposable world.