There’s a particular type of tiredness that comes with making decisions about what to keep and what to throw out. Even more so when it involves toys that have done duty for three generations – and in the case of the Meccano, four generations. I’m not convinced that the run-of-the-mill toys that come from the big shops today will be with us in four generations.
It’s funny what stays with you – I’m pretty sure that one of the early “setters” of my love of colour is the Playplax we had as youngsters. I took it with me on Sunday, and built some tonight – it seems your Playplax muscles are there on a use it or lose it basis. I’m going to exercise the next few days and see if I can introduce a new generation to them this weekend when the niecelets (faux and blood) come to play.
Some things move on, though. My brother’s daughters still love playing with the cash register and food store set – and as I loaded the coins and notes back into the till, I asked my folks whether they thought the checkout toys of the not so distant future would even include hard currency – or will the toy shopping sets come with a smart watch and pay point machine?
I haven’t quite let go the guilt of consigning Jemima and The-Doll-Whose-Name-I-Don’t-Recall (in my defence, she was Tim’s) to the rubbish. I feel like I need to return, do final portraits, and thank them for their service. Their hair is matted, their faces worn, some limbs are less attached than you might hope for: they did it tough. Jo-Jo Doll (named after the sister of Suzy) and Rosie Baby have benefited from decision-fatigue, and have “lived” to see another day. For now they’re hanging out in the cradle (which is made up with the bed sheet and blanket set made by Mum) alongside the lovingly hand-knitted doll clothes Nana Moody made as she travelled towards us, across the Nullarbor Plain on the Indian-Pacific. My spidey senses tell me they’ll be with us for a while yet!
There are so many ghosts in the prams and cradles. Ghosts of those who’ve gone before but pushed prams when toddlers ran out of energy before they and their charges arrived home from the park. But, there are also the ghosts of the children I wanted but didn’t have. At the crunch point I did the work to bed down the decision, and I know with all my heart that it was the right one to make. But, in the long list of future sinkholes I planned to watch out for, packing up childhood toys wasn’t one of them. Neither was standing next to Mum as she set aside the beautiful, cherished clothes she’d so loved dressing me in and had stored so carefully for all those years. That was a sinkhole that I almost couldn’t get out of. I must have learnt some lessons, though, because I only went ankle deep today.
Tomorrow I’ll ring Tim to see if he remembers the name of the doll he played with. And I’ll take their photo. Service, however rendered, deserves to be acknowledged.
But then I’ll “bin them” (but not before I figure out how on earth I avoid consigning them to landfill!) – we’ve still got clean edges to create.
Stardust Becoming 