I'm about half-way through reading Yoko Ogawa's The Memory Police and there's a part where the protagonists are exchanging birthday gifts. As often is the case for dystopian novels there's a scarcity of stuff, so instead of handing over new items they give each other second-hand possessions that are of special value for the gift-giver. Now either I've had a skewed interpretation of the meaning behind the phrase "it's the thought that counts," or parting with items of meaning to you as a way of saying "I care about you" isn't really a thing anymore.

I took a moment to reflect on the physical belongings I value the most: my kitchen knives, my Dyson vacuum, and the only two photos of my (deceased) cats. For me to relinquish any one of those items you're either prying them out of my cold, dead hands or we're getting married. None of them have "resale" value necessarily, and the first two in particular have replacements available, but I've used them hundreds of times. They're my knives and my vacuum that in some way symbolize me given the value I ascribe to them.

There's probably a word for it but in Japan there's a greater awareness of the value of inanimate. At the end of the Opening New Doors season in the tragically discontinued Terrace House TV series, the co-habitants sweep, mop, and scrub down their living space. Part of it is out of courtesy for the host I imagine, but there's also an appreciation for the cleaned surfaces themselves involved. Cleaning gives us an opportunity to be mindful of the things we often take for granted: sinks, toilets, fridges, kitchen appliances, the tables and chairs that we spend hours indulging. Even the floors can be thought of as the "base" of the roof over our heads marking the boundary between safety and the outside.

Memories are great but they leave with you. Material possessions live on, and what makes a better heirloom than one of the three things you valued the most in your lifetime? It's like building a meal prep rotation that iterates as you discover, hone, and perfect over time.