My mom died a few years ago at 95. Over the years she would give her “treasures” to the kids and grandkids as extra presents. And always told and wrote down the story behind each one of them. That helped a lot rather than “Jeez - here’s ANOTHER cup and saucer - and it don’t match anything else!!??”
Those cups and saucers were gifts to my mom from my dad after he would go out on a hunting or fishing trip! He would always get her a set to sort of make up for being away. Not that mom minded - but it was a nice thought. We got most of them!
Going through the photo albums there was a picture of mom and my dad’s father and some other older guys. Out by a campfire with a pot of coffee on. “Oh - that was opening day of fishing. Your dad was in the war by then, so I took his place to go up fishing! I didn’t go the rest of the years while he was gone!!”
Still happily using my century old hand me down lidded cast iron chicken frying pan, and the skillet my great grandfather wrote about while sitting on a horse or mule drawn wagon somewhere between St Louis and central Oklahoma. He wrote in praise of his wife’s biscuits, which she’d just baked for him in the skillet in the coals of a campfire, and how heavenly they tasted after a long day of traveling with a wagon load of goods for a store in Oklahoma. Those pans have been used for generations and are seasoned with the fat of countless hogs and chickens. My niece has become a chef and has been eyeing them up. At least they won’t be hanging in a Cracker Barrel any time soon.