My grandmother’s precious heirloom: Antique bone china, shipped over from England at the turn of the nineteenth century.
My precious heirloom: Promotional Sam Adams pint glasses that came with a six-pack of Octoberfest in the fall of 2012.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: Her carefully preserved satin-and-handspun-lace wedding gown, sewn by her mother.
My precious heirloom: My wedding gown, bought off the discount rack at David’s Bridal, so that I could afford an open bar at my wedding.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: An antique pocket watch, given to Grandpa by the widow of an old war buddy.
My precious heirloom: An old Fitbit Inspire that might still work, if I could find a way to charge it.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: A vinyl record with the first song she and Grandpa ever danced to.
My precious heirloom: The “bUmPngRiNd” playlist that my college boyfriend put on my iPod Nano which actually has some decent tracks, if I could find a way to charge it.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: Old scrapbooks and photo albums chronicling the life and times of my ancestors, all the way back to the invention of photography.
My precious heirloom: My iCloud password.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: A sapphire engagement ring that has been passed down through generations.
My precious heirloom: One dream-catcher earring from Forever 21 that I’m keeping on the off chance that I ever find its mate, and the even greater off chance that dream-catcher earrings come back in style.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: A late nineteenth-century Chippendale writing desk that has been painstakingly restored and maintained.
My precious heirloom: A bed set from Ikea’s Hemnes collection that I replace every time I move.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: Great-Aunt Ruth’s secret beef-stroganoff recipe, written in elegant cursive on a notecard that’s kept hidden in a small lockbox.
My precious heirloom: A rock-solid frozen Tupperware filled a third of the way with jar spaghetti sauce that’s been kept in the freezer since 2015.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: A cherished quilt to which every woman in the family has contributed a square, with an empty space for me to add my own emblem symbolizing my place in the matrilineal order.
My precious heirloom: The copy of “Quilting for Dummies” that Grandma passive-aggressively gave me for Christmas, and that I will passive-aggressively never open.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: A piece of fine art that my great-great-great-grandfather smuggled across the Atlantic Ocean and sold in order to start a new life in America, and then bought back after he hit it big in the 1849 gold rush.
My precious heirloom: The Bernie-wearing-mittens meme.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: The cedar hope chest she received from her mother before her wedding.
My precious heirloom: A cardboard box filled with ’NSync bobblehead dolls that might be worth something someday.
My grandmother’s precious heirloom: A box of old love letters she and Grandpa wrote to each other while Grandpa was abroad at the beginning of their courtship. The stationery still smells of the perfume Grandma sprayed on it.
My precious heirloom: An antique Nokia phone that still displays some of the old “u up?” texts that my husband sent at the beginning of our courtship. If I could find a way to charge it.