The Objects of My Past

Our family recently relocated to New Plymouth from our little lifestyle block outside of Hawera. It has been a big change to go from a rural lifestyle to almost directly in the city, but it is one that we wanted to make and so far we are enjoying all the little differences.Of course, the first step is to move all of your belongings. Over the year before selling, we had begun culling out items for sale or donation. It felt so great to get rid of 'things'. As we neared our moving date, I asked my husband if he remembers much of what we got rid of or missed it, but we had little memory and no regrets of the things that we decided to let go. However, there was still the issue of the antique furniture of my mother's. While any sale proceeds would go to her and help her live a better lifestyle in the present moment, it still felt like I would be letting go of my mother piece-by-piece while she was alive. There was an emotional connection for me. My mother was embodied in each item. The memories of my childhood, while vivid, were also contained with the hard wood edges and soft plush cushions. The conservator in me quickly snapped out of the past and took into account the condition. Because these items had been locked away in less than ideal storage environments, the wood and textile components suffered a bit. Some minor, less emotionally valuable items had no purpose and I am all about everything has to have a function (especially because we were moving to a much smaller house).I knew the importance of these items to my mother. Her marriage was very different from mine. My mother happily raised the kids while my father worked. After I became school age, she started to work again and the money that she earned went towards this antique furniture sitting in my garage. She worked so hard to buy these pieces. I realised that this albatross of dark oak and varnished cherry reproduction Williamsburg tables was something I never wanted to imbue upon my children. On one hand, I hated it. It represented a past that I had long moved on from. This furniture represented a happy time in my mother's life which is contrasted with her current older age and limited health.One piece that I particularly saved when no one else wanted it, was a writing desk that my father had. There is nothing special about this desk. It is not a particularly nice quality construction, and it is an uncomfortable height and so bulky and wide we could not fit it where I had originally planned (despite careful measurements!!!). The relocation company suggested I disassemble it. My face must have contorted in horror 'but I have NEVER disassembled this desk!'. Now, here I stand, looking at where the screws could be undone. This desk WILL fit where I originally planned. I slowly unscrewed each flat head screw (why didn't they use phillips!) and taped it on the wood to its corresponding hole. Congratulating myself for what a smart conservator I was to make sure they go back to where they came from. 'You KNOW how antique furniture is!'. It came apart very easy, and I only undid the necessary pieces. Lifting the top off I realised all the bits I missed cleaning over the years, but suddenly I had this warm, hot cup of soup feeling knowing that this dust was from Pittsburgh, perhaps even Scotland. This dust was formed when my father was alive and using this desk. This dust was sacred. The beauty for me as a conservator is discovering the little details that are under the cracks and in the crevices. That are left behind when things are not disassembled.In sorting through some of my husband's family's heritage items, we had differing opinions. The threat of 'Well, if you are going to make me get rid of this, then we have to get rid of that.' doesn't work on him. He is much less sentimental about the past than I am. I had to decide what to choose to keep. It very much reminded me of how we approach heritage items in museum collections. How do we decide what to keep? Most museums have collecting policies that define what their 'mission' and 'theme' is for the community. I told my husband that we have to decide what items represent his family's history.It was...unfair. Normally, as a conservator, I don't make the decision about what is important. I preserve items that have been deemed to have value for someone or for a society. This time, I was deciding what tangible items were going to be shown to our children. What stories would be prioritised over others and supported by physical evidence. Of course, I wanted that messaging to be strong. Your people were adventurers (ice axes and crampons from exploring Taranaki). Your people were helpers (my grandmother's Red Cross nurse uniform from World War II). Your people were hard workers (the branding irons from your great grandfather's farm). It was selective history at best. Is this what I was taught as well? Does each generation get to select what bits of their family history get passed on?This process has brought up a lot of mixed emotions. We left my husband's family farm that was originally developed by his grandfather. It was hard to not be the ones to carry that history on, but I was glad that our son got to enjoy the lifestyle for his formative moments. We are starting our own story now. It's not one based on 'things' though. It is very different from our parents one. I am buying furniture that does not have emotional meaning to me and I feel very guilty for it!