SHARON

WOLBERS PENDOLA

MEMORY KEEPER

I was born a memory keeper. I just didn’t know it until much, much later, when I was the only one left to recognize photos of people who had passed away. It was only then that I fully embraced the real importance of being a memory keeper. 

I say I was born a memory keeper because I was always interested in observing and listening to people, especially my family. During elementary years I changed schools four times in five years. Consequently, I didn’t focus on potentially transient people. During the summer months I lived with my immediate family on a small private island, and my extended family consisted of only my grandparents and aunt who lived within a block of each other. Thus my world was small and mainly family. 

I don’t think I’m unlike many. I listened to my grandparents’ stories rather than watched television. I chose to hang out in the rooms where the conversation seemed the richest. I helped in the kitchen while the women chatted away. I was an eavesdropper. 

Later I interviewed family members for school writing assignments and then kept a journal of  the information. I listened to names and looked at old photo albums and cherished pictures, framed and displayed. I value knowing about people. 

Consequently, when our children were growing up, I took lots of pictures. I put them in albums and had everyone look at the albums from time to time. The pictures brought forth  memories of people who had passed away. They also brought forth their own stories. Recalling family stories is now one of our favorite pastimes. Pictures and stories refresh our memories of the faces and times that otherwise slowly fade away. Both are important for memory keeping.

Personal items are another issue. When I tried to save my grandparents’ barn from demolition, my grandmother told me that if I was a sentimentalist over everything, I would have great heartache in my life. So I’ve very carefully chosen what to be sentimental about and even then to know if something breaks, to just let it go. Memories are more lasting.

When my grandmother gave me a lady’s desk, I cherished it. When she wrapped up her demitasse tea cups, one at a time, and over the years bestowed them to me, she knew I would value them. I would not take them for granted because I was a memory keeper. Now I also have her best china, the china she bought piece by piece with her one-room schoolhouse teacher’s income. The china on which she served other teachers during the depression when she opened her house as a luncheonette across the street from an elementary school building. Those women ate on that china, joyful over a home-cooked meal that helped my mother, her sisters, and my grandparents have a bit of money in their pockets when Grandpa lost his job as a bank president and had to find work sweeping streets in Detroit. Yes, I have come to value some pieces that bring stories and sweet memories to my life and to the lives of the people who know my stories. 

They say that people who are surrounded by things that evoke memories of love and joy live longer than those without. Thus, I may never be a serious minimalist, but I will also not be a hoarder. Memory keepers don’t have to have lots of stuff. 

Memory keepers are also interested in keeping alive the memories of people who are living now. So I tell my own stories. I’ve come full circle. Once the child listening to my grandparents, now I’m the grandparent .

 I have so much to say and time seems of the essence. I don’t want a single day to pass without there being value in it. A sharing value. I may not say everything with a personal meeting. Perhaps my words will be on paper, in a letter, book, email or text. Mostly I hope to share in person, but if distance or weather, health or circumstances don’t permit that, then I can share a phone conversation or Zoom meeting. It seems important to share what I can now with others. It seems important to share things I value with a story, to give my pearls carefully to people who will cherish and value them more than a haphazard purchase. I do not need to hold onto so much anymore. Once I was a gatherer; now I would rather be a giver. And the greatest gift I can give are memories.