Time Travels The Spark of Joy Susan Orzell-Rantanen and Cassie Horner

THE SPARK OF JOY

BY SUSAN ORZELL-RANTANEN AND CASSIE HORNER PHOTOS BY TIM SINK AND CASSIE HORNER

ORGANIZER AND BUSINESSWOMAN MARIE CONDO, INTERNATIONALLY KNOWN FOR TEACHING PACK RATS TO PAINLESSLY BECOME CLUTTER-FREE, INTRODUCED THE WORLD TO THE JAPANESE CONCEPT OF TOKIMEKU, WHICH IS LOOSELY TRANSLATED TO “SPARK JOY”. It is nothing less than an insight into the acquisitory and sentimental human mind that provides a loophole allowing people to keep an object that, in the opinion of others, has no right to occupy space in a home. When something sparks joy, it is as if a current of electricity leaps between the inanimate object and the human soul. When something sparks joy, that is enough reason to keep it whatever its condition or current relevance and no other explanation is needed.

While this concept is newly articulated, this unlikely communication between person and thing is hardly novel. As women of a certain age, with myriad interests and experiences, Cassie and I have naturally amassed a hodgepodge of possessions we call precious and other people dismiss as needless. Here is a sampling. GIRLHOOD SADDLE In May of 1974 I bought a buckskin Connemara pony and her bridle and saddle for $350. The pony is long gone but I still have that saddle: worn, outdated and unsafe for real use. And here's the clincher. I don't keep it in the barn but in my office on a saddle rack built into a wall stud for the purpose. I still hope to devise some sort of rope support hanging from the ceiling rafter where I can suspend the old saddle and sit on it while I watch old reruns of Mr. Ed. (For you youngsters out there, Mr. Ed was a 1960s show about a talking horse.) FAMILY NEST BOXES I belong to the second generation in the history of the civilized world that doesn't keep hens as a matter of necessity. I do keep hens and inherited a henhouse box built by a family member at the turn of the 20th century. There are four nests obviously meant for much smaller chickens than are common today. It sits proudly atop a newer box, containing three much larger, modern nests, which the hens understandably prefer to use. Obviously, they have no appreciation of family antiques, but I do. Should the day come when I can no longer keep chickens, I will scrub it down and use it as a bookshelf in the house. CARTOON OF PARENTS In March of 1977 my parents, Keith and Marion Dunham of St. Albans, visited the city of New Orleans with a party of friends. Here, they came across one of the many Bourbon Street artists standing in front of an easel and offering to draw on-the-spot caricatures. This quick, casual 11” x 17” sketch in pastels utterly captures the essence and personalities of this man and woman, far better than any expensive studio portrait ever did. My mother's mint-green eyes regard me from her perspective on the wall, just as if she stood there herself. An actual photograph would probably be preferred by their descendants long after I am gone, but for me, this likeness from an improbable source... sparks joy.

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84 WHEN I CONSIDERED WHAT THREE OBJECTS SPARK JOY IN MY HEART, THE FIRST WAS AN IMMEDIATE CHOICE. I love little objects and this one dates back over 50 years. I spent a lot of time at my aunt and uncle’s house in Woodstock as a kid. Her mother, Gramma Wells, was a tiny lady with a bright spirit and a warm demeanor. She lived a few houses up the hill from her daughter in a pretty gambrel named Burnside Cottage in homage to her husband’s Scottish lineage. When she reached the point where she couldn’t live alone, plans were made for her to move to her daughter’s house. Preparing for that move must have meant making some thoughtful decisions about what to take and what to leave behind. One day when I was visiting her in her cottage, she told me I could pick out something for my own. I remember my strong attraction to a little gold metal box topped with a bright faux sapphire. I loved that box and, later, when I was given a desk by another elderly friend who was moving, kept the box where I could see it. That gift was back in the 1960s, and, still, when I think of it and hold it in my hand, I think of Gramma Wells and that special day.

The second object I keep close is a gift from my husband, Tim. He often, to my delight, brings me home little things. This one is a sturdy pewter house with a brick chimney and tiled roof and a tiny door and lots of windows, including two for the attic. The house is square, and hollow, yet heavy enough to weigh down papers in a breeze when I write outside. It fits perfectly in my hand, too,and is very satisfying to hold. Magically, at least for a bookworm like me, neat lettering marches around the base of the house, starting to the right of the little front door. It says, “A house without books is like a room without windows.” I couldn’t say it better. The third object could have been many things but, with Tim’s help, I chose the porcelain figurine that

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always brings to mind my mother and father. The detailed elements of the piece feature a little boat on a wavy green water. The man wears a porkpie hat, a green jacket and khaki pants. He sits in the stern and holds a fishing line made of metal that arcs out over and into the water. The woman wears a similar hat and a pink dress with a white collar. She is barefoot and rests one arm on the tackle box next to her on the seat. There is a landing net leaning against the side of the boat and, behind her, a rope attached to an anchor. I don’t know if this was a gift to my parents or something one of them bought, but it is so appropriate that it is easy to imagine the two figures are them. My parents loved to fish on the lake. A photo of them from the 1950s shows them in a small rowboat, dressed for the November chill, making the fishing season last as long as possible. I can’t help but smile when I see them so closely reproduced in porcelain.

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