Inheritances are a strange animal. I am unsure how to feel when possessions come my way via an inheritance. It is a mixture of intrigue, anticipation and curiosity, tempered by loss and guilt. The reality that possessions which were once treasured by a loved one are now yours due to death can be unsettling. This can drive you to not accept the possessions, or begrudgingly accept and then hide away in a long lost corner of your attic.
I have not inherited much in my life, luckily most of my loved ones are still alive to use their stuff. The possessions I have inherited have often been useful ones – furniture, watches, shares, money – along with memorabilia such as photos, letters, books, medals, cards and coins. All of these items hold some form of sentimental value and, at times, can be therapeutic to hold, view, use; a permanent reminder of the previous owner, a link to your past.
Then there are the quirkier items that make you wonder, ‘where did they get this from?’ or ‘why was this left to me?’. I have been on the receiving end of a few of these ‘doozies’ in my time. The floral Hawaiian shirts, a small demonic monkey with cymbals attached to his hands that claps and smiles at you, gaudy jewellery; the kind of items you smile, say thanks and then swiftly confine to the bottom of the cupboard.
Other times, you receive something that you would never expect, something out of the ordinary, a real treasure. On the weekend I made the pilgrimage to my mum’s place in the country to collect some items of inheritance from my grandmother’s estate. My grandmother, Nannie, was a hoarder of sorts and her house was a treasure trove of family memorabilia which my family had painstakingly sifted through over a period of weeks, and extracted a collection of real gems.
My collection was housed in a Meggit’s sunflower seed sack, a legacy of my late Pa’s farming background, and consisted of a knitted blanket (family favourites), a teddy bear, a few books and some illustrations done my Pa when he was a boy. There was also a nondescript suitcase, small, brown, tattered – it looked old. I had watched the original Indiana Jones movie the night before so as I laid the suitcase out on the bed and jiggled the locks, a wave of anticipation swept over me. What would be enclosed in this beaten leather shell? – Spanish gold coins, ancient bejewelled idols, a shining light like the case in Pulp Fiction??
Upon opening, what greeted me was grand sight. There, in seemingly perfect condition was a set of lawn bowls, complete with cleaning cloth and a set of rules dating back to the 1960’s. Not my grandfathers, but my great-grandfathers – a link to the past. After recovering from the joy of my discovery, I was beset with panic. With my experience of lawn bowls limited to a few barefooted attempts with drunken friends under the harsh aussie sunshine, I was not sure I could do these bowls justice.
My inherited bowls brought with them a number of pressing questions:
Would I have to join a bowls club?
Do I have to buy a pair of white shorts, white shirt, knee length socks and bowling shoes?
Who gives bowling lessons?
Would these bowls be structurally intact to absorb an impact with the jack or a concrete gutter?
This gift seemed to be providing more questions than answers but it was, without doubt, a great gift. It seemed this was a gift that would keep on giving.
I better run, I see that the local Bowling Club are having an open day this weekend.
I’ve got some clothes shopping and bowls polishing to attend to.
I have a legacy to uphold.
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