the relics we keep...

relic: an object surviving from an earlier time, especially one of historical or sentimental interest

see also: a part of a deceased holy person's body or belongings kept as an object of reverence

There’s a set of beautiful Japanese string art that sits right above the sofa in my office. They are rich in color and beauty and are from a time and place I have never been.

“Where did you find these?” I am often asked by clients…”they were my grandmother’s” I tell them and the moment freezes. My mind zips through the stories I know of my grandmother and how she met my grandfather. How they traveled far and wide and lived a big life in a tiny Georgia town.

I remember sitting with her at a meal in Savannah, GA eating my seafood sampler as she told me about a dance she and my grandpa attended together and the many letters they wrote to each other while he was at war. She twisted the napkin in her hands as she shared, looking down at her shrimp bisque (she tried it whenever on the menu), my Mom and I both enthralled.

The pictures hanging above my leather couch represent only small snapshots of the beautiful tapestry of life they created together, four kids, a business, an important imprint on a small town, and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She was my Mimi and I will never forget our weekends together at her pool, her handing me coins to dive for, her pinky finger sticking out as she sipped her tea, hamburgers cooking on the stove.

My grandfather’s camera sits on my bookshelf, next to a picture of my young husband visiting the Alaskan bus made famous by Chris McCandless. My grandpa was an endless amateur photographer – often having all of us sit down together and watch his slideshow of recent travels to Egypt or every state in the USA. The pictures in tiny frames rotating quickly in the projector as he regaled tales of their travels.

When I was 5, they took all of us to England to see where our ancestors lived. We visited old churches, the roman baths, pubs, and rode a bus through the countryside, the big tour bus kind that barely made it through the small windy roads with eye rolls coming from locals as we pulled into the dusty parking lot.

Little Lindsey staring into the depths of the baths hoping she does not get pushed in by a passing sibling.

Old video tapes recently shared by my Mom hold a special recording: My mom, her sisters, and my grandmother singing together, something they did together often, their beautiful voices echoing through the church where my ancestors once worshiped. The video is old but the memory remains fresh.

My Grandmother, Aunt Gay, Aunt Susan, and Mom singing after Easter Service in Minchinhampton England

When my grandmother died a few years ago, my aunt Susan spent days and days sorting through things from their home. Every few days we would receive an email with fresh finds - from art to vases to cameras to Christmas décor and jewelry, my whole extended family had the chance to choose which pieces we’d like to keep in our own homes - to honor a rich life not yet ready to be buried.

And if I didn’t know better

I’d think you were talking to me now

If I didn’t know better

I’d think you were still around

Marjorie, Taylor Swift

On the dresser in our room another relic lives that my grandmother shared with me – something she picked up only hours away from where we live now, a place she and my grandfather visited on their honeymoon. She gave this special pottery to me at a wedding shower. It sits next to a wedding photo, of course. To receive something directly from her felt special and unique. Art hangs in my son’s room that my grandmother painted, and a flowery landscape she created sits in my office. She lives everywhere in my life now even though she left us years ago.

As I was preparing to attend the Taylor Swift Eras Tour last May and was memorizing lyrics (as one does) I stumbled upon the epic song, Marjorie. The song is about her late grandmother, Marjorie, an opera singer. You can hear her haunting voice in the background towards the end of the song. Over the last year, this song has brought me to my knees. Not only do I think of my own musical grandmother but my Mom as well…how one day I will wish for this time back, even the time where I complained and moped, I’ll yearn for the receipts she signed, the stories she has yet to share about her own life, what dreams she put away for me so I could pursue my own.

The autumn chill that wakes me up
You loved the amber skies so much
Long limbs and frozen swims
You'd always go past where our feet could touch
And I complained the whole way there
The car ride back and up the stairs
I should've asked you questions
I should've asked you how to be
Asked you to write it down for me
Should've kept every grocery store receipt
'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me
Watched as you signed your name Marjorie
All your closets of backlogged dreams
And how you left them all to me

What died didn't stay dead
What died didn't stay dead
You're alive, you're alive in my head
What died didn't stay dead
What died didn't stay dead
You're alive, so alive
And if I didn't know better
I'd think you were singing to me now
If I didn't know better

Marjorie, Taylor Swift

When I think about my cousins, her beloved grandkids, I see the influence she has had on all of us. Kind, musical, and intelligent, lovers of art, travel, and culture. While she is not here anymore with us in body and mind, her soul and spirit live on in these relics, the stories these pieces hold of love and war and hope.

Baby Miriam, aka Mimi

I would love to know…what relics live in your home or special space? Who did they come from? What memories and feelings do they hold? It almost feels like nostalgia sometimes seeing these items and remembering what memories are attached to them.

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