Waiting for promises kept

1st Writes Photo

Over the years, Helen had dusted the shelves for her Great-Aunt Elspeth.  At first Helen could reach only the bottom shelf, and Aunt Elspeth had praised her. 

“Oh, what a magnificent job you have done!  Someday,” Aunt Elspeth had pointed to the very top shelf, “you will reach that shelf!  I will let you choose the bottle you love the most!”

Each time Helen polished and cleaned the shelves, she gazed at the bottles so far out of her reach.  ‘Someday…’  One time Helen would favor the green bottle, but the next time she dusted, she desired the pink bottle.

Years stacked up in numbers as Helen grew and she could dust the next shelf, and then the next.  Which one would she choose?  The blue?  The violet?  So lovely, so hard to decide.

When Helen could just almost reach that last shelf, Aunt Elspeth dropped dead right in front of her. 

 By this time, Helen was now grown as much as she ever would; she was a mother with a small child.  As she closed the eyes of her now-deceased aunt, Helen smiled gently.

Then Helen found a sturdy stool and a box.  She stepped onto the stool and stood level with the shelf.  Gazing fondly at each bottle, Helen sighed.  

Reaching tentatively, Helen spoke, “One?  Hell, I’m going to take them all!” 


This is a repost from 2014. It came from the photo prompt above.

It's time to leave something behind

 

first left soup tureen; Lady carrying basket from my mom when 17; and Blue Ridge from Southern Pollenia?

At one point, all those precious items from your great-grandmother? Your offspring will not take them.  And that is where things go awry.

My children have looked at my treasures and said "Oh, we don't want that.  Means nothing to us."

This song tells how I feel.

Sean Rowe

Some descendants may someday thumb through my stuff, and say how cool we were.  I hope they recognize how cool we are. 

And I hope that maybe they appreciate my writing. Not so, yet.  Their lives are too busy, etc.

What to do?

Source
In a library somewhere

The garage is half done in the purging.  The sewing room is surprisingly neat and ready to be used. 

Bit by bit, we discover treasures from decades in the past.   My husband found his lost collection comic books—not in mint condition.  My box of teaching instructions and directions from 1970s were there, written on a typewriter and then copied on a Xerox.  We found boxes and boxes of books.

Some were published in the Twentieth Century and many in the Ninetieth Nineteenth Century, books own by my Grandmother Peck.  She was a highly educated woman and her books reflected that.

The oldest book was published in 1862, first edition.  Very worn.

But that fact raises a big question:  What do I do with them?  I have kept them for over forty years, since her death.  The books are in fragile condition, the covers degrading and pulling away. All are well-used, with that musty smell old books have.

What do I do with this inheritance? 

Part of Grandma's gifts to me

Any suggestions?