Giving life back to an old friend
We live in such a affluent throwaway world that anything and everything which has outlived its usefulness or simply lost its newness, can be discarded and replaced.
There is always something “new and improved” to sway us to part with that which has served us so well all these years.
I spent almost an hour on a recent Sunday fixing a broken clay pot. A rare strong gust of wind blowing through the balcony, had tipped over the tall plant it housed and the pot broke into several pieces.
That was months ago and I carefully set aside the shards for those rare “one of these days” moments when I would get down to fixing it. And so that Sunday with a tube of glue in hand and a furry volunteer trotting happily behind me, I set out to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Buttercup looking a little grumpy: "... but but but I was only trying to help!"
I would have been done in less than 15 minutes had not my enthusiastic but clumsy assistant Buttercup stepped on the tube of glue and then proceeded to leave her gooey footprints all over the patio.
So what’s the point in fixing a broken old pot anyway? Is this some misplaced sentimentality. Afterall the pot could simply be replaced for a few dollars – why go thru’ all the hassle?
I guess the answer is one of perspective. Can I replace it? … sure. But I grew up learning to appreciate all the little I had. No toy was ever tossed away if it could be fixed in some shape or form.
It would never be brand new but in fixing that which was broken, I’ve learnt how many things work and with the glue of imagination, you can give the broken, the old and the worn out, a new lease of life. They would never be as good as “brand new” but they could still function well.
That pot became … well a pot again after my Frankenstein-fix. It may not be beautiful with all her scars showing but she continues to do the job. Could she now be replaced by a few dollars … not in your life! She’s got a dose of character now – not to mention my fingerprints (and some cat fur) which proudly proclaim her resuscitation from her destiny down the chute of death.
Looking at her patchwork shell as I pass her by each day, gives me a certain undefinable sense of satisfaction and that’s something money just can’t buy.
And in case you are wondering what all of this has to do with the heritage, or possessions, I guess the same sentimentality holds true. Some of us are easily caught up with material possessions. I know some people who have to appear as walking billboards for the latest brand names – the more expensive the better. It is as if their possessions define who they perceive themselves as being or at least how they wish to appear to the rest of the world – so be it.
We all become attached to our possessions I guess. But the strength of that pull varies widely from person to person. Some would gladly part with them for the new season’s models. Others, like me, see value in the old as trusted friends who have been with us through time and become part of our familiar, comforting surroundings. Someone I had dinner with recently said something way beyond her years … that you don’t need lots of friends just one or two good ones who you know would not let you down. And she’s right with friends and with the possessions we hold dear.
Our possessions needn’t be expensive to be a family heirloom of sorts. They only need to be a part of us. A nondescript handmirror which my grandmother used everyday, is something I regard as priceless now that she has gone.
Maybe that old pot, complete with my fingerprints and Buttercup’s fur enshrined in glue, may one day, many many years from now, be seen as a possession cared for, a possession treasured. And that hour I spent putting that pot back together, would have been time well spent.
Other writings in this series:
Fantasies of the Unconscious – One giant leap for mankind … really?
Fantasies of the unconscious – If buildings could speak
Fantasies of the Unconscious – Creatures of the dappled light
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