So, I love my British competition binge shows. You know, the Great British Baking show and now the great Pottery show or whatever it is called.
A while back on Netflix, we started watching a non competition show...British and bingey yes, but not a competition.
If you haven't seen it, it is a "shop" with all sorts of people with super specialized skills.
I have learned some cool things and I really love watching all these folks working on all these broken and worn out treasures. There is a clock specialist, stuffed animal specialists, ceramics, a woman who restores paintings....all kinds of things.
There are some amazing things that are brought into this place. If you haven't watched and like any sort of arty crafty shit...I highly recommend it.
The last time we watched an episode, there was a cool gravity clock they they were fixing. At the end of the episode the owner comes in and brings his granddaughter with him. The clock will be hers when he is gone. She is all of maybe 10 or 11 years old and just has this super clear understanding of why it is so important, why it isn't a throw away. There was also a belt that a young man brought in that I think had been a great grandparent's whom he had never met. Again...the care and concern for the history, for the why was forefront in this young man's mind.
Now, I get it, it isn't lost on me that these folks come from places of privilege...Their families HAD things to pass on...they have the money to both keep them and have them fixed. That being said, I found myself extraordinarily sad after the last episode I watched. Being a second generation immigrant who had a grandmother who literally would be called an "illegal" by today's standards (she was rejected for unknown to me reasons and snuck into the country)...I have nothing of anyone's to hand down. I also realize that is happening right now for families all over the world as well, but it just so happened to hit me while watching this show. I have nothing to pass down or share with the kids...throw in the fact that I never met any of my grandparents and yea...I felt sad and yes, I probably teared up. I don't even really have stories because these were the days of when you asked where we were "from" we got a lecture about how it "doesn't matter." It also meant that the one great auntie who was known for her fantastic pirogi...well she chose to take that shit to the grave.
What's my point here....I have no idea. I guess I just wanted to share.
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