Precious Family Heirlooms I Am No Longer Keeping on Your Behalf
If you haul any of this crap back into the house, it goes with you to college or I’m burning it.
Kids, you’ve probably noticed the pile of stuff in the front yard under a “Free, No Backsies” sign and wondered why I’m tossing your inheritance. Please understand that this heirloom purge is my gift to you, and a direct result of binge-watching seven seasons of Hoarders.
1. Nine Madame Alexander dolls. These dead-eyed zombies are the reason that neither of you slept through the night until you were ten. I want something better for my grandchildren.
2. Thirty jars of Auntie Maeve’s Corn Relish, minus the dozen I dropped onto the patio from a second-story window. Yes, I know it’s her secret recipe. The secret is high-fructose corn syrup.
3. One 75-pound brass seahorse figurine that your dad insists is “really worth something.” Anyone who thinks it might be worth more than the ER co-pay required when he dropped it on his foot is welcome to find out.
4. One trash bag of hand-tatted doilies ranging in size from “perfect to rest your bone China teacup upon” to “sufficient for wrapping a corpse.” Grandma Ann thinks these are treasures because tatting is a dying art, but she’s wrong. It’s not dying. It is entirely, 100% dead. You may as well take up mummification. Speaking of which:
5. Taxidermied animals (assortment). Cousin Charlie — to whom we are not that closely related, thank God — bequeathed us the forever-stunned remains of three squirrels, two Maine Coon cats and one monkey head. At least I really hope that’s what it is.
6. Three silver-plated chafing dishes. To chafe or not to chafe? That has never been a question. I’m an educated woman and I don’t know how to chafe food, and neither should you.
7. Beaded, satin 1920’s wedding dress, encrusted with mildew. There’s a great story that goes with this one. Feel free to write it yourself.
8. Teeth. When you came to me with bloody smiles, cupping these very teeth in your little hands, I couldn’t imagine discarding even the smallest, calcified parts of you. But now they trigger my gag reflex, so they must go.
9. Straw hats. I know we loved those summer evenings that we never spent wearing straw hats, as we strolled past the bandstand, but I am so done with these hats. And no, they don’t smell like Pappy’s aftershave. That’s dry rot.
10. Silk Mandarin-style cocktail dress custom made in Hanoi circa 1974, and so tiny it would fit no woman in this family, ever. Want to know more? Ask Uncle Steve. I dare you.
11. Vintage postcard collection. I admit, this one hurts a little. This box holds travel notes from all over the world — memories, promises, and tender goodbyes. But if I have to find room for it in one more god-damned closet, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Instead, I’ll leave you with these words that your Great-Great Grandmother Ginny wrote to her husband and six children from a motel at Niagara Falls, before she disappeared forever: “Don’t think of it as a loss, my darlings. I am setting you free!”
