years transforms them into antiques that are honored in the family's lore and traditions.

You have several, you say? Heirlooms? Where? And antiques too?

Squirreled away, at the moment, in your cellar, attic, or garage, or proudly displayed in your den or sewing room, the ancient objects eventual departure for elsewhere is inevitable. They have survived one house cleaning after another and denied candidacy for garage sales and flea markets. Some are treasures from previous generations, or the product of your own hands and, without doubt, they belong to posterity. OK, so this or that artifact doesn't have museum value; it could still be of enduring interest to your family and to the progeny of your progeny's progeny, even unto the xth generation. Who's to say?

The heirloom, or heirloom-to-be, might be a brooch or wedding dress great-grandma wore, or a long ago foot-pedaling or hand-turning sewing machine. It might be a delicate tea set, a venerable book of sheet music your grandpa's great-grandma brought with her from the old country, a 1920s typewriter on its original stand, a set of ancient but still usable wood carving tools, a widget that the inventor (your Grandpa!) was certain would be a technological breakthrough, or, you name it.

And that may be the problem. You might be able to name it but how much do you know about it. If you made it, usually no problem, but if it's from a past generation, it may not be that simple. Generally, our forebears gave little thought, if any, to an intergenerational communication that would accompany one of their possessions into the future. To the original owner, the Thing might have been for everyday use around the house, barn, shop, wherever. Nevertheless, such Things do acquire uniqueness over time, and even if no longer of practical use, they represent an individual's, a family's, or a community's history and perhaps, grandeur.

Cataloging an heirloom rediscovers and records the past and, through the memories of you and others, builds another bridge from the past to the present. Family history and tradition are enhanced by facts that emerge in what you can recall from way back when.

Elements to consider in cataloging an heirloom:

The Thing: What it is, and what it's made of. Look at and feel the watchamacallit if it lets you. Record what you see, feel, smell, hear, taste (watch that last one), and otherwise sense. If possible, sketch or photograph the Thing.

Its History: Where and when it was made; where it's been; anecdotes, legends, evidence of significant events in which it was used or 'was right there in the middle of that mess,' and the family and community personalities who were and are associated with it, and in what way.

Its Use and Care: How the original and successive owners used it; suggested uses for now. (Oldness is not necessarily equated with uselessness. Right? Right!) Conditioning or preservation: oil it, polish it, display it away from direct sunlight, put it to work, coddle it, take it for a walk, just leave it be right where it is, etc.

Many heirlooms eventually find their way into museums, historic societies, and community archives. Even if they do not, preservation and conservation are important. To slow an heirloom's deterioration, store or display them carefully away from harsh artificial lights, sunlight, heat, and dampness; inspect and restore as required, use acid-free wrapping paper, and just keep them out of harms way. Visit museums and historical societies for ideas on how to protect and display your heirlooms.

What you get in return is personal pleasure, and a store of anecdotes, history, lore and traditions for grandkids, nieces, nephews, and nearby and distant family whatever their ages. Photos and sketches, along with verbal descriptions and commentaries are constituents of tradition and values-and the finest kind of intergenerational communications.

Values and Traditions

Many older adults have interests other than family. They work, play golf and other sports, have active social lives and hobbies, and so on. So, indeed, what's in grandparenting for them?

It depends on how much value a grandparent-and a parent places on family ties and the need for and the flow of intergenerational communications. Where family has meaning, interacting with a far away grandchild adds substance to a 'value'. Then, as the grandparent ages, communicating with the distant grandchild retains its strength as a positive force, and enriches the remaining years. It reduces loneliness, and is an antidote for apathy and depression. Entering grandparenting with tolerance, constancy, and sincerity adds pleasures to a person's life. In storytelling, grandparenting invites a call from a distant grandchild to 'Send me another story,' or better yet, 'I've got an idea for a story. Let me tell you about it.'

The grandchild chose the grandparent over television and the many other forms of professionally polished commercial entertainment that thrusts forward for his or her attention. In so choosing, the youngster notifies the grandparents through his/her appeal that they, the grandparents, are wanted and needed. It's Grandchild reaching out and inviting Grandma and Grandpa into his or her world-with affection.

In single-parent families and in families in which both parents work away from home, there might not be as many opportunities to pass along traditions, awareness, and values. Be that as it may, throughout history the family and tribal elders passed their knowledge and codes of conduct on to those who, as part of the natural process, carry the torches into the future. This responsibility to family and community is in the substance of existence.

Living History

For many of us, our lives are keyed to significant events, transitions, locales, or something that has importance to ourselves or to our families. For me, the important events and episodes happened to be on a time-line by location: the places where my family resided over the years. I spent the first twenty-five years of my life in the city where I was born and raised. Afterward, a few years in a distant city, then on to another and still another, each invariably distant and different than before.

After I retired, I took the time to make notes on as many important events that I could recall, and keyed each to a geographic location. I gave each episode a title or sketched a brief outline that would stimulate my memory to the place and help me to talk about it. My list began with city A: my preschool and school years (with several sub-headings because those times had been chaotic); the Great Depression, the first job, etc. City B: why I was there; the job; etc. I continued on to the next and the next.

When I finished my initial list of 'cities' or 'countries' and numbered them I found that I had more than two hundred events, episodes or time periods. I arranged them so that one followed the other as they had occurred or were otherwise linked. That became my outline.

I took the list along when I visited my grandchildren (my daughter had briefed the family beforehand about Grandpa's list.) Evenings, relaxed at the table after dinner, Grandson or Granddaughter would call out, for example, 'Grandpa! Number 67!' I made a big deal out of hauling the list from my back pocket, carefully unfolding it, locating the number and reading the title aloud. Then, on to chin-rubbing, head scratching, ceiling staring, and after enough 'C'mon, grandpa! Get with it!' from all directions I went into my act, narrating in words, tone, gestures, and body language the events of oft-told 'Number 67', or whatever number they had chosen.