Grandma's Flowers: Simple Objects Can Feel Extraordinary

Please enjoy the following transcript from a past episode of Exhibitsmith the Podcast. Grandma’s Flowers debuted on February 29, 2024. Find Exhibitsmith on your favorite podcast platform and at Podbean.

Today I’m digging deep into my personal memories to share a story about how an otherwise ordinary object became surprisingly important to me at a very young age. I’m curious whether you’ll be able to relate. I hope you enjoy today’s episode and I invite you to share your stories, too.

Hi, my name is Lindsey Smith with Exhibitsmith. I’m rethinking the way we save our stuff. I help people interpret, preserve, and better understand the objects that make up our world. If you have a lot of stuff, it might feel overwhelming. But believe it or not, I truly believe that artifact and heirloom preservation can be both easy and fun. In fact, I’ve developed a series of introductory-level workshops on this topic and others just to prove my point. Learn more about them at exhibitsmith.com.

Okay, back to today’s topic. I’d like to talk a little more about downsizing, especially the thought process around who in your life might most appreciate your stuff. And not just all your stuff, but particular objects that hold special meaning.

When looking to downsize – and potentially give some of your possessions away to friends and family – I encourage you to be proactive in asking what items they might be interested in. This can help with planning and organization and all of that, but you might be surprised to learn how your “stuff” has – or has not – affected those around you. Think of when you were a kid, visiting an older family member’s house. You might not have noticed the formal portrait above the fireplace or the fancy crystal vase. Maybe you couldn’t care less about the things that were the most important to them (actually I’m going to save that discussion for a different episode, because that’s a whole subject on its own.) But perhaps there was something a little less obvious that you were always excited to see: maybe a favorite pillow to curl up with (my maternal grandmother had some amazing, velvety-plush animal print throw pillows in her amazingly decorated mid-60s home – I thought they were the absolute coolest), or maybe a figurine that sat on a shelf – perhaps it was the closest thing to a toy in the whole house so that’s where little-you gravitated, or a quirky cut glass candy dish that was always filled with peppermints. Okay, who am I kidding. The dish was filled with butterscotch or those candies with the wrappers that looked like strawberries – or maybe the little round ones that were supposed to look like raspberries. Do you know what I’m talking about? Anyway, do you understand where I’m going with this? The things that might be most important to your loved ones, the objects that make them feel most connected to you and your experiences together, may not even be on your radar. Here’s another example. If you’ve been staying in someone’s guest room for years, you’ll probably be more connected to the items in that space, right? than to whatever they keep on their dresser or in their desk drawer. Things like that.

So here’s an example that’s very personal to me. I mentioned it very briefly on social media a while back but otherwise I don’t know if anyone at all knows about this. It’s just locked away in my head. And yet, it remains very important to me. My paternal grandmother died when I was eight. She lived far away, so we didn’t get to see each other often, maybe a couple times a year, and I’m very sad to admit that I honestly don’t have many memories of her. But I remember their little house: it was a small, cozy, one story home in a retirement community in central Florida, surrounded by palm trees. I remember their front room, I remember the basket of grapefruit hanging in the kitchen more than I remember the kitchen itself – and I remember I was too young to go in the hot tub in the community center’s pool house (ha!) – and for some reason I remember their bedroom, perhaps because my grandma was sick for a long time before she passed, or perhaps for some other – happier - reason that I no longer remember. This was decades before smartphones, and I don’t think I have a single photo that shows the inside of their house. But I do have a few of these very distinct snapshots seared in my mind. If only I could bring those images back to life, or pull them from my mind’s eye and put them on canvas.

When my grandma passed away, she left me her upright piano – something she always had in her home but had never learned to play. According to my dad, playing the piano was always very important to her and it’s a bit of a mystery why she never took lessons, even in her retirement. So while I always knew that her piano was a prized possession, and that I was very fortunate to receive it, I didn’t quite understand what the big deal was. Now, that piano turned out to be very instrumental (ha! Sorry about the pun?) in my musical development (let’s just say that I’ve had a lot of music in my life – and it started shortly after her passing - and I’m sure I’ll get to all my music stuff at some point, stay tuned I suppose) but I never really felt a personal connection to that piano. Side note - that piano still lives at my parents’ house. One day I’ll get it moved across the country to be with me. One of these days.

So I was – and continue to be – very appreciative of her gift, but my feelings toward it were more transactional. I mean, again: she never played it (because she never learned.) I don’t think I ever even heard anyone play it. But I do remember where it was in their home so I suppose that’s something to cherish.

Now, concerning my grandfather. He was fortunate to live a long life after she passed away, so her death didn’t result in some sort of mass exodus of stuff. There was no estate sale or divvying things up amongst the family. But if I had been involved in that sort of process (and again, I would’ve still just been an eight year old,) I would have only asked for one thing. One item that was important to me and my relationship with her. On humble object that could help me keep her memory alive.

My grandmother kept a bowl in her dining room filled with yellow plastic flowers. Looking back, I think they were meant to be yellow begonias. I distinctly remember the two of us looking at them, checking on them, perhaps pretending they were real? together. Or maybe we would just dust them. All I know is that we were doing something grandma/grandkid-ish together and it was really sweet. And I admit my memories are hazy. I think they were in a brown glass bowl but I’m not even sure of that. It might have been a metal bowl. All I’m sure of was that they were plastic yellow flowers with a rubbery texture. I remember thinking of them after she passed because they were one of the few tangible memories I had with her, having spent our lives a thousand miles apart.

Here’s the thing: no one knew the flowers were special to me. My grandmother might not have even realized their true intrinsic worth. I remember visiting my grandfather after a while and the flowers were gone. I only thought to ask about them many years too late. I mean, there was no one to blame here. They were cheap, plastic flowers that were probably collecting dust and taking up space, so I assume, you know, they were unceremoniously tossed out on a random, sunny Florida afternoon. But I continued to think about them as I grew, still picturing them on the table in their little dining room, as if they were still there - long after my grandfather had remarried, long after he moved out of state, and long after he passed away. In my mind’s eye, they’re still there.

It’s been 36 years and I’m still thinking about them. When I think of her, I think of those flowers. And I also realize that those little plastic flowers were probably old when I first encountered them, and they’d probably be a pretty sad sight today. Rubbery plastic flowers don’t last forever. That’s also a topic for another episode. But that’s not the point.

Oh how I wish I had those little plastic flowers to hold on to so we could grow old together.

The point to all of this is, when you’re thinking about what items to pass along to family and friends, don’t assume that you know what’s best. They might have memories that are stronger, more personal, and more random than you could have ever dreamed. Now it might take a while to get people to really think about what is important to them – so if they shrug you off at first with an, “I don’t know” or a “nothing,” give them time, ask questions in a different way or using different words, and quietly observe how they navigate your space and use your things. It takes time for people to identify and understand their memories, especially if they’re happening in real time. It might take days, or months, or subsequent visits. But once they start to consciously think of that things are important to them – whether you’re looking to give them away or not - what a wonderful conversation it will be.

I hope you’ve enjoyed today’s story and thoughts about stuff. I invite you to subscribe to my podcast and once again, you can see everything Exhibitsmith is up to Exhibitsmith.com, including grabbing some free, downloadable resources. Thanks for listening - I’m already looking forward to the next episode.