Keep Sake
We breathe, in an atmosphere of memory as important as air. Everything you know before this moment is memory. You’ve been thinking about this afternoon after Toastmasters…those thoughts of the future now reside in your memory. Trippy! All the experiences you’ve had abide there, in a treasury of your identity. There you sit (gesture) surrounded by your thoughts of the past as I compete for your attention.
At the center of your memories are Keepsakes—objects, images you own that remind you of someone. Strictly speaking, a Keepsake should be given to you by the person who wants to be remembered though that is not always the case.
Think of the keepsakes you have—framed photos of loved ones, some special thing that one of them gave you. What people have said to you that remain unforgettable. For example, a good friend of mine told me that the motto of the parochial school he attended was Quod Bonum Est Tenete, Quod Bonum Est Tenete. Hold on to what is good. I have held on to those words. Objects, sourvenirs, expressions, we’ve kept them. We look at them, or hold them in hand, hold them in mind in order to remember that person and our relationship.
This baseball {I hold up a hardball.}is a keepsake that reminds me of my stepfather. My stepfather gave it to my other who gave it to my half-sister. She, then, handed it down to me. I can hold this in my hand, feel the raised seams just as my stepfather held them against his fingers over 70 years ago when, with this very baseball, he pitched a perfect game one evening in a competitive semi-pro league in Connecticut. He threw this maybe 80 times to 21 batters. Not one reached first base safely. I cannot tell you when exactly this happened because the light of 25,000 days has erased the words once written on the ball. A perfect game….I revered my stepfather as a man….he was not perfect. He was damaged by WWII, but remained responsible to his family. I did not see him pitch the perfect game, but when he was 42, and I was 12, I saw him perform. I was thrilled as he pitched a shutout; he still had his stuff. My sister gave this to me. To hold in safe-keeping for a while. Ironically, he would never play catch with me. I looked up to him, and still he lives in me. What is my relationship to him? I am a carrier of images and moments of his life.
Did I distract you enough with my reminiscence or have you been lost in thoughts of your own, my words a background rhythm for your reverie? Here’s an example of a keepsake that many of you wear or have worn. {I hold up my left hand where on my ring finger is a wedding band.} And true to its strict meaning it was given to me by the person who wanted me to remember her. Of course, my wife Valerie. When I worked in the operating room, I had to take it off daily to scrub on the cases. But that was over 40 years ago. For years I haven’t been able to get it past my knuckle. So, it is a constant but sometimes barely tangible reminder. Most of you have worn such a Keepsake. If you’re like me, you often reach down and touch it subconsciously. Contact with a keepsake raises memories and ground you in the moment.
Perhaps you looked closely enough to notice the second ring I wear. My mother handed this down to me. It belonged to my grandfather, Giuseppi LoGioco. His wife, my grandmother, Ursula, gave it to him to wear as a symbol of the trust of their marriage. He wore it over 60 years in sickness and in health, in good times and trying times, and he continued to wear it after death separated her from him. He was the family patriarch and enacted the virtues and faults that came with that role—his loyalty, devotion to family on one hand, on the other an expectation of unquestioned obedience to his authority. But I looked up to him, and carry with me images and moments of his life with my own identity.
Grandpa, now dead more than a ½ century. My stepfather, over two decades. Val and I married for over a ½ century. A keepsake tries to hold at bay the unceasing currents of time that wear away everything except what is indelible, perfectly stitched, or forged.
Test my theory out tonight—that we are surrounded by our memories. When you are home and look around you at the books, wall-hangings, objects on tables, your kitchenware….and what is stashed in the Photos of your smart phone. At times when it is quiet enough, he voices of those who have guided you, their words treasured in your heart. All keepsakes. Even Namrita’s and Amy’s faces on Zoom, remember, keepsakes of their recently-given Ice-Breakers. Any recollection of the meaning you retained of Grace’s speech on Ethics, and Janet’s Table Topics on Hawaiian Beliefs--keepsakes.
All those images, recurring and repeating themselves, as if they had a life of their own, in your mind, all those images, carry the traces, the impressions of the people who have made up your life.
In the tones of a “dead” language long held as a keepsake of western civilization’s best ideas, I implore you: Quod Bonum Est Tenete….Quod Bonum Est Tenete
Hold on to what is Good! That which is Good, Hold!
Toastmasters, it is so easy to misplace things…keep all that is good close to you.