This week is a curious exception to what I normally expect of my pattern of activity. There is absolutely no pressure to do anything in particular. This is not to say that I am without things to do. After all, this week sees the annual “Masters” snooker tournament. Apart from this there are routine maintenance tasks to do, such as digging the car out of the snow and clearing paths. I started today a significant little project I have been promising myself for some time. I’m making an inventory of the objects we have accumulated over the years that, when we die, we would not want just sent to a charity shop….at least, not without some consideration and a deliberate decision being made. Some of these have monetary value, but as often as not these are objects that have some particular personal or family significance, much of which is not immediately evident.
There are several significant aspects to this task. First of all, it is absolutely absorbing, involving the photographing of each object, and listing it in an inventory with an explanation of its personal or financial value. It involves a journey through one’s past that stimulates a cloud of memories of people, situations and experiences. I am compelled to think about members of the family, speculating about who might respond to each item, and why. Then, my wife and I are under the spotlight here, as there is a sense in which we are reflected to some degree in those objects we have chosen, as opposed to those which have been given to us. The other side of this process, of course, is the questions that come to mind about the way in which we might exist in the imagination of those who have given us gifts. (Did they recognise something essential about us in their gift, or is there a smile because of the curious mismatch between gift and recipient?)
Another side of the question is raised by the small number of things which we have inherited from our parents. In the case of my parents it is striking that these objects generally originate in one particular bequest that my father received. There is a story behind that.
An activity which was begun with (I admit) a degree of reluctance and in the expectation that it would be a chore, is turning out to be an engaging and often intriguing exploration of the past, and a critical scrutiny of myself. I’m quite looking forward to resuming this process tomorrow. It is curious, however, to note that (at least up until now) there is no stirring of artistic inspiration, however remotely sensed.