I don’t take it personally anymore when friends and family members, subtly or not so subtly, suggest I should start parting with some of the possessions that pre-date the middle of the 20th century.
If they only knew they would be more shocked to learn that I can easily list a remarkable number of items that are even older. Some consider them junk, suitable only for a garage sale table. Others with my mindset regard these items as heirlooms, collectibles, antiques, memorabilia that suggests an affection for the past and for the individuals who allowed me to be the caretaker of these treasures.
I am not ashamed to admit that I believe that change for the sake of change is usually unnecessary, costly and certainly frustrating for the person who has to make the changes.
There is no doubt that I am partial to the set of Wedgewood dishes collected for me prior to me setting up housekeeping in my Ominica Street apartment. Over the years some pieces have been broken and now the remainder of the set is tucked safely away after continuous complaints from Housemate that the plates in the set were too heavy for regular use. So off to a safe place they went, replaced by a more modern style and design. Soon they too will be old and someone will encourage me to call the auctioneer.
Similarly, I was distraught when the reliable repairman told me he could no longer fix what ailed the stove that was pushing 40 years. If we hadn’t needed an oven for certain foods, I could have managed with four working burners, with the oven being relegated to storage.
I did not dance with delight when the original refrigerator from the beginning of our marriage kept things warm instead of cold. We had to replace it with one not meant for a homemaker that likes to have considerable space available for leftovers and foodstuffs that might be required for unexpected dinner guests. The replacement fridge lasted five years and its current replacement is even more disappointing. The squeaky freezer compartment door allows me to know when ice cream is likely being removed from cold storage.
Despite the cracks, I absolutely will not consider turning my back on the set of three plastic mixing bowls I bought for my apartment. None of the new bowls in their midst come close to being so pleasing.
The radio in the clock-radio no longer works but the clock has never failed me so no, it will not be advertised for sale. And ditto for the radio-cassette player. The radio works just fine on AM but will have nothing to do with FM. And the cassette player tends to unravel the tape in the cassettes. One out of three still deserves some loyalty.
And then there is the electric tea kettle, one of those round ones with a sturdy handle and a mirror-like exterior. That kettle came to this house with us in 1978 and has been loyal ever since.
Lately though it made some unusual sounds as it boiled the water and we humans predicted that one day soon we might have to send it to the tea kettle heaven. “No, it works just fine,” I told myself, and Housemate who had that doubting look.
And then it happened: I filled the kettle and plugged it in. There was a pop like a loaded cap gun going off. Another pop, and silence. I know a watched kettle never boils but I watched, I carefully touched the exterior and found it chilly, unplugged it and then returned the plug to the outlet. Missy tea kettle sat there, un-moving and un-boiling.
The water was poured out and I turned the kettle upside down to see some rusty-looking screw and another blackish mark — proof that the appliance was beyond our mechanical capabilities.
Housemate was advised of the death that had taken place upstairs and his mourning period lasted all of two seconds before he started researching a replacement. I, with more empathy, polished the exterior to a brilliant shine and swished out the insides as a thank you for such long service.
Off we went in search of a new kettle, one that simply boiled water when it was plugged in and stopped boiling when the cord is pulled out. Kettles are much more sophisticated these days, some with remote controls and others with the ability to be set to start boiling at a certain time.
We picked the least complicated, paid a hefty price and took our new possession home. The old one sits there close by, like it is eyeing up the new interloper and waiting for it to get itself into trouble.
Maybe someday I will package “old faithful” for disposal in the place that well-loved kettles go for disposal.
We will have to figure out which relative will inherit the new kettle for it is certain that we won’t be around if it should work for at least 40 years. I’m sure there will be a family competition to see which youngster will win the bequest.
Joyce Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
