Orange Blossoms and Harpsichords

What do hundred year old orange blossoms and harpsichords have to do with anything???? They both belong to me. In the case of the harpsichord, make that belonged.

For reasons somewhat unknown to me, I have become the family historian and collector of family "stuff." Some would say "junque." It started in 1988 when my oldest brother died suddenly and I was the child close enough to help clean up his apartment and clear out his extensive holdings of musical instruments, art, books, records, dollhouse furniture, raku pottery and miniature trains. My grief-stricken parents couldn't bear to think that his possessions were being thrown away, and so, they migrated to my basement. Some migrated upstairs.

More migrated upstairs when my first divorce occurred and my ex-husband took the stereo system, our record collection, etc. Space opened up for some of my brother's furniture. I did sell his 3000 records and all of his books. I hung many of his paintings. I moved the harpsichord he had built out of my moldy basement and into the living room.

For twenty years I have held onto things that were his, thinking that somehow that preserved his memory. In some way, it certainly has. Recently, though, I've been able to let go of some of his things, and not feel badly about it.

Last Friday, I had a new media center delivered. As the delivery men walked into the living room, one of them spotted the harpsichord. "Oh wow," he said. "Is that a harpsichord?" "Yes," I said. "Could I see it?" he asked. "Of course," I said, starting to unload enough of the junk on the flat surface so that I could open it partially to expose the keyboard. The delivery guy began to play the keys. "This is awesome," he said. I was looking on, horrified at the dust and mildew on the keys. I showed him the little tuner and unloaded the rest of the top so we could upen it all the way up to see how many strings might need to be replaced. "It needs a lot of work," I observed. "It's awesome," he said. "Would you like to have it?" I asked. "Are you serious?" he asked. "How much...." I interrupted by saying, "I don't want to sell it, I'd like to give it away." He looked at me as if I had a screw loose.

Within a few minutes, they walked out the front door with Rob's harpsichord and loaded it into the back of the Holmwood Furniture truck. I felt a momentary pang of disloyalty, and then I thought, "The universe sent this guy to me, and he will take care of this instrument and maybe even play it. Rob would have liked that."

The orange blossoms are another story. My cousin Mary Kay came to visit a couple of weeks ago, with a box of letters and odds and ends of things she had found in the closet of her dad's apartment when they had to move him into smaller quarters. One box says on the outside: "Orange blossoms worn by Katherine May Sherer (my grandmother) on her wedding day, April 5, 1909 to Theodore T. Redington." Sure enough, inside are pieces of what must have been a coronet of orange blossoms mixed in with some kind of white tear-dropped shaped beads. It's incredible that the blossoms have sort of petrified as if they had been waxed, as opposed to turning brown and shriveling up.

What does one do with an "heirloom" like this? I am not a museum, after all. Another box held pearl beadwork on a Satin ribbin (white) which I think must have come from her wedding dress. In my cedar chest I have baby clothes made by a great great grandmother......I have scrapbooks kept by that same great great grandmother. I have a mourning ring with real hair in it, and a wedding ring. I have a water color painted in 1795 by the man whose chair I also have - that item having been given to my grandparents on the occasion of my father's birth in 1912. The chair is cherry, made from a tree in their yard and pegged together in the pre-nail days of the 1700s. I have recipe boxes and a collection of 19th century letters which I published in book form in 1996; and another collection of letters written by a member of the family who was a missionary in India in the early 19th century.

JunK? Antiques? Of interest to anyone? No one? Saved all these years by people in the family who felt the importance of a connection to an earlier time in the life of our family. Am I to be the one to throw it all out? It seems like a heavy responsibility to be the decider of these matters. I imagine that earlier savers of these relics felt this same way. I see these things as artifacts of our nation's cultural history, not just of our particular family history. It seems as if there should be somewhere where these items could be preserved, interpreted, and shared with future generations.

Or, it could be that some day, the right delivery guy will walk in the door, and I will be delivered of the box of orange blossoms, my great grandmother's copybook, my great, great Aunt Mary's autograph book and the last of my brother's bonsai pots. Or not.