Leftovers take many forms, even if the ones we will be most mindful pf this week is leftover food from Thursday’s Thanksgiving meal. Tangible leftovers invite both creative re-use and letting go.
In my growing up home, there were no food leftovers at home except for Thanksgiving turkey and Christmas ham. My mother always calculated how much she needed to feed three women of normal appetites and one son growing to six feet five, and it was all eaten. In my family with a husband and three daughters, none of us big eaters, there were always creative ways to incorporate leftovers into soups and casseroles and sandwiches.
However, there were fabric leftovers in my birth family, because my mother made our pajamas, shirts, blouses, dresses, skirts, and even tailored jackets. Later, she coached me and my sister when we made our wedding gowns and bridesmaids’ dresses. At age seven I learned to use scraps for doll clothes, then was gently guided into making my own clothes. My mother used scraps for potholders and quilts, and had a fierce competition with my mother-in-law in outfitting my daughters’ Barbie dolls. When the scraps got too small or too scrappy, there were always cleaning rags. I have no recollection of paper towels in my mother’s household.
Leftover fabric can make something beautiful or useful or both. I have done a lot of quilting, table runners and potholders and occasionally actual quilts, mostly from leftover fabrics. In fact, the origin of quilting as an art form was to make good use of leftover fabric scraps. When I retired from sewing, except for mending, altering, and making gift bags, I gave my fabric stash to a friend of my granddaughter who was in college majoring in costume design.
Twelve years ago, I learned about another kind of leftovers that can be recombined in a different kind of quilt, with spare parts carefully recycled in other ways. Many of us are awash in household possessions—furniture, decorations, closets filled with clothes that no longer fit or that we just don’t wear, cupboards full of extra dishes and cooking gadgets, and for me, books. Sometimes the answer to abundance run amok is a bigger house with more closets and bookshelves. But as we get older, a better answer is often a smaller house with fewer possessions to look after, which invites creative use of the leftovers. This retreat from “hoyuseholding” is a useful lesson from Hinduism, which is very attuned to the different challenges and expectations at different stages of life. Old age is the time to let go of possessions and responsibilities and concentrate on matters of the spirit. Less is more, but we don’t want to waste those possessions we are letting go.
My friend Fran and I taught a continuing education class and wrote a book together about downsizing and decluttering after 50. She was a former Clemson Extension agent and a realtor, with lots of experience in decluttering houses about to be sold. I knew more about writing than decluttering, but I learned a lot about decluttering when I left my big house where we lived for 46 years to move to a townhouse in a retirement community. The townhouse is furnished mostly with things that came from our big house, but I couldn’t begin to cram it all in.
If there are fifty ways to leave a lover,there are almost that many ways to dispose of National Geographics, porch furniture, tools, 33 RPM albums, carousels of slides, furniture, sailing trophies, all the leftovers of being married for 53 years to a loveable pack rat. The National Geographic magazines went to a home schooler I found on Freecycle. I gave Carl’s framing supplies to a young man whose mother was a fellow sailor of my husband and had taught junior sailing classes with him. I met people through freecycle who worked for Ulbrich Steel in Oconee County and wanted to know if we were related. Yes, but not in regular contact, because Carl’s father was the black sheep of the family. He had not only moved out of the home town of Wallingford, but had, horror of horrors, married a Protestant.
When Fran and I taught the decluttering and downsizing class, we found that people had the most trouble letting go of objects that were the carriers of memories, because they are afraid that the memories would disappear along with the objects that call those memories back into the present. Sometimes I chose to let thrift shops and recycling centers do the work for me, and trusted the universe to keep the memories. Other times, I knew where the right home was for a treasured item and was pleased to help it carry those memories to a good place. I emailed my three daughters with pictures of Carl’s sailing trophies, all practical items destined to be used– etched glass salad bowls, mugs and pitchers. They opted to take most of them. My middle daughter Carla claimed so many treasures to take back to New Jersey that we had to meet in Southern Virginia, to unpack my car and fill up hers with everything from 33 rpm records to end tables made by her father to snorkeling gear. These were among the leftovers of a lifetime of memories, and a good way to let go.
Some of our leftovers are the actual memories, of holidays, travel, milestones, joys and sorrows shared stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart. May your leftovers of all kinds find a good home in a hungry belly, a warm quilt, a different use, wherever or wherever they can still be useful and meaningful to someone. Let us also share our leftovers of mind and heart with one another, recalling the joy in the memories they embodied.
PurpleSage41 