Thus it came about that, because my teenage aunts sold war bonds during World War II, I am the proud possessor of a red apron with "Miss Canada" emblazoned on it, as well as a jaunty navy cap. They nicely show off my clown nose, which also appears every Halloween. I also have bronze blocks with the Keele family crest reversed on them. I suppose that if I were in the habit of sealing letters with wax they would come in mighty handy too. Then there is my dad's ruby glass cup, with his name and his birthdate engraved on it. Because I treasure it, I store it away safely so, again, not much use.
Speaking of useless artifacts, I have both my uncle's wooden hat form and a wooden laste (although no-one in the family does or ever did make shoes), not to mention my maternal grandmother's tiny wedding shoes, made of white kid and elegantly beaded. I keep the latter mainly because of my mother's description of having worn them when she was a little girl playing dress-up; unfortunately, they drew the attention of her older brothers, who saw fit to lassoo her and run her through the pasture. No damage but to pride. She had a delicious temper and I relish picturing the aftermath. Let's just say that the boys lived to regret it.
Grandpa's clock, however, is most closely approximated by our house as a whole. We have left our mark on every surface here, and know which stair will creak and which radiator will clang as the heat comes back up in the morning. We have no desire to leave it. Occasionally I have a dream in which we have sold it and moved away. The new place is fine and loaded with bathrooms, but my heart aches and it is a relief to wake up. We put our souls into this old house and it shares its soul with us.