Something that came home with me from this trip...this is going to be long.
During this bag journey, there comes an occasional bit of... not guilt, exactly, but an element of self-criticism. A little voice that says I am buying things I don’t NEED, that I am maybe being superficial, in a way. This is totally born of the thrift gene that comes from my mom’s side of the family. My parents come from a good sized, working class town in Appalachia, one that had a jolt of prosperity after the war that dwindled to poverty after the factory jobs left starting in the 90’s. It skews old because if you are young and have a scrap of ambition, you get out as soon as you can. It’s what my parents saw the beginnings of when they got married, so they left. I did not grow up there, but we visited often. My grandma (mom’s mom) grew up middle class in town and got a job working the line in a tire plant so she could make more money than working in the office with the other girls. Working with all men gave her a thick skin, but she was beautiful- tall, slim, striking dark hair and pale skin. She wanted- and got- a nice car, clothes ordered in from New York for her and an apartment shared with two other girlfriends. Then she met my grandfather...one of 13 kids raised on a farm with a widowed mother. The boys (all 8 of them) would rush to be the first one up because then you would get your pick from the clothes. The last ones to get up got the too tight/short/worn clothes. My grandparents struggled after they got married...my grandma had to sell her car to pay for my mother’s birth...and my Pap did not always have a steady job. Plus he drank more than he should. The house they settled in when my mom was about 7 (and still live in) was built by hand by my Pap and his brothers. My grandma went back to work at the plant and stopped wearing all her nice clothes. I only ever remember seeing her wear tees, sweatshirts, short sleeve cotton button downs with jeans and a pair of Keds. She rarely wore makeup and her hair was always really short. She worked second and third shift for the money, but rose to supervisor. She retired from Kelly in the 80’s. My grandma never had a new car, to the best of my knowledge, and everything was functional. My Pap was a painter/carpenter/handyman, who loved to hunt, so everything he had was functional too.
I give this background to understand what happened this past week. As I was cooking and cleaning this week, I saw that my grandmother did not have a single nice thing. Everything she had came from discount stores and basic department stores like JC Penney’s. Cheap cookware. Tarnished costume jewelry. Vinyl bags. Except for a collection of small colored glass pieces, which I doubt are worth much money, nothing she owned was owned for the joy of it or to pamper. Nothing. And it made me really sad. A stranger waking through her house would look at the sum of what she owned and keep going. And she worked so very hard, to the point it wore her away. She worked full time, had 5 kids and was still expected to do all the “wifely duties”...I discovered during this trip that my Pap, who knows how to take care of himself, magically unlearned how to cook, make a ham sandwich or wash a dish while I was there.
None of this is to say that who you are, or the sum of your life, is defined by what you have or own. Not by a long shot. But to not have anything fine, special, even if just for special occasions... It makes me realize that my collection of nice things is ok to have. I don’t spend money on designer clothes, most everything I buy— all my designer bags except one, scarves except two— are preloved. So I am still thrifty. But I have some things that bring me joy, that my niece, future daughter in law and granddaughters will be excited about owning. I don’t think I will ever be truly a spendthrift...the DNA is too strong and the budget does not sensibly allow it...but I am going to lighten up a bit. No guilt or nagging voice. As long as I USE and NOT HOARD, nice things are ok in moderation. I want there to be some fine things I love that are left behind and that people who know me can look at and see the beauty, who can also remember when I wore them and they brought me joy.