My parents used to joke that they didn’t know why they made such a point to vote in every election, since they usually arrived together but always left having cancelled out one another’s votes. Growing up, I never spent much time considering which way (Republican or Democrat–I doubt there was much third-party enthusiasm in our traditional household) each had cast the ballot, but I suppose in my naivete I imagined that women were mostly liberal, and men (read here, fathers, since those were the men I knew) were mostly conservative. This, then, was probably how my parents were. My father has been gone for many years, but recently my mother has begun to be very vocal about her political inclinations and intentions. Really, very vocal. Since President Obama was elected, I’ve come to realize I had my parents figured wrong all those years.
I wondered aloud last night what exactly has gotten into my mother for her to suddenly be so in-your-face about politics, and my husband ventured this possibility: that after all these years of being quiet about what she thought, she’s decided at her (fairly-advanced) age to be silent no more. I had to think about this. Could it be true? Certainly, no one has ever had to stifle my mother’s urge to tell anything personal: from finances to religion to politics, she has always played everything very close to the vest. Simply, she was a very closed person, partly out of decorum and partly just because she is private. She was widowed over twenty-five years ago and never remarried, so there hasn’t been the question of a spouse’s approval. So why would this woman suddenly decide to throw cards to the wind and attend (gasp) public (swoon) political rallies?
I think my husband may be right on this one. I believe it is entirely possible that my mother has reached the age where she feels free to do whatever she wants without concern for what others think. Like many people, I am familiar with the poem “Warning–When I Am Old I Shall Wear Purple,” by Jenny Joseph, which reads in part, “I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired / and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells / and run my stick along the public railings / and make up for the sobriety of my youth.” Maybe my mother is doing this–making up for the [silence] of her youth. Maybe she saved her voice all those years just so she could use it now, and loudly.
I think of all the other things people save, rather than having for everyday use. When I was a child, nearly all the houses I ever visited had two living rooms: one for family use and one for company. In many of my friends’ houses, the formal living room had a piano in it. But in only one of those did I ever hear anyone, other than the ten-year-old being forced to take lessons on it, actually play that piano. Were all those pianos just for scales and Chopsticks? What did all those parents think their kids would need piano lessons for? The answer is, well, someday.
Most of the people in whose dining rooms I have shared a meal have two sets of dishes: one for family use and one for company. The everyday dishes are, of course, sturdier and more casual in design–bold colors and sometimes whimsical patterns. The “good dishes” have names like Mitake and Lenox on their bottoms, and often a gold or platinum rim around the edges. These sit, when not in use, in either the top shelves of kitchen cabinets (in the case of an eat-in kitchen) or the lighted display shelves of a buffet or hutch, itself in the formal (company) dining room. I’m not making fun: I have this arrangement, too! But what are we all saving our china for?? Well, some as-yet-unidentified…future occasion.
A friend gives you an expensive bottle of scotch whiskey for Christmas. You get a really great pair of stiletto heels for a good price. Or you treat yourself to a pricey something you have been coveting for some time. And what do you do? If you’re like many people I know, you set aside the scotch, the shoes, the precious whatever, for a special occasion. I’m not saying there is never a time to be prudent; I’m just wondering what imagined event we are all so optimistic about in our futures that we reserve all our best stuff in anticipation!
I have a friend who likes to give leather-bound sketchbooks as gifts for birthdays and other occasions. Before she wraps each one, she opens it to the first blank page and doodles some little meaningless doodle there, effectively spoiling the pristine quality of a beautiful, empty book. Because if she doesn’t, she says, the book is too daunting for everyday use. The recipient will place it in a desk or drawer, intending someday to fill it with only complete, rehearsed work, eliminating the possibility of ugly erasures and failed attempts. And yet it is from that same possibility that some of the best work will be born. From everyday use, from practice, even wear and tear.
This, then, is one answer to why we save our voices, our china, our suede shoes: fear and optimism. Fear of the wear and tear that everyday (maybe careless) use will inflict on that which we prize. Optimism that there will be a day when we will have time to really enjoy these special things, to take care with them and relish them as they deserve. Too bad that day can’t be today. Too bad today can’t be a day when we could slow down and really pay attention to all the best things we have. Maybe for you it is. If so, a toast. With my best scotch, in a crystal glass.
