Weber’s Weblog

Growing up, this was the soundtrack to my life (commercial clips…). I had all that I had ever wanted at the tips of my fingers and I always got what I wanted. My father was the saver, my mother the spender. She left us when I was sixteen. As I grew older, I watched her delve deeper into debt. I sat back while she tried to keep up with all of the new models and fashions, while she choose shoes over electricity. She would always be a spender. My father told me that I was just like my mother. For a while, I fell into her footsteps.

Watching her wardrobe expand but her mind sink into depression, I knew that no matter how much she had, it wasn’t going to be the missing link, suddenly making her feel complete. It wasn’t long before I realized that happiness couldn’t be bought, no matter what they tried to sell you on the tv. She had all of the things that she wanted in the world, yet it just left her hungry for more.

This brought me back to the days of my childhood. I grew up watching my grandmother preserve relics from her past in a safe. She wasn’t hiding her money; she was preserving her mementos with sacred air. She saves. It’s what she does. All throughout my life, my favorite treat was opening up that safe with the shiny silver key; unlocking a door to past times, to past memories. With each tiny relic, she had a story. I would sit, silenced, motionless, hearing her words dance around my ears. When my grandmother had little to cook, she used to make dinner combining all of the stuff that she had in her cupboards. This made me long for the stories, for the resourcefulness of past times. I wondered why it was my grandmother that had all of my report cards and not my mother; that had the slippers from the hospital the day that I was born, and my diploma. Why this gap between generations; from mother to daughter, old and new?

I chose to avoid my mother’s fate while my grandmother’s ways guided me back to the woman that I wanted to be. It started out small, to live more frugally to avoid my mothers ways, but eventually it spilled into my life from the north, south, east, and west. I had always had a love for old things, but never had I imagined that I would appreciated it in the ways that I grew to. Eventually, I chose the thrift store for birthday shopping over the mall. Upon that, the worlds got a cold; with so much waste and pollution attacking its lungs, I made a vow to buy no new; no clothes; no shoes; no objects; handmade cards from scrapes and presents. I have found more love in these things and in myself for choosing the unpaved path. My character now runs deep like the roots of a willow tree. In an age where consumption is promoted, I have chose to be one less mouth to feed; instead I’d take the scrapes, make them feel loved, like an old lady giving a home to stray cats. I found myself, and happiness in the old; in everything old; old ways; old people; old objects. These days, I long to hear my father say; you have your grandmother’s ways.