It kind of happened by accident. There was some planning but not really. It just took shape over the years. As I sit in the den and look at the bookcase my eyes wander the collection of things placed here and there on the shelves. We all have those places. Those shelves. Those stories. A stranger may walk in and just see an odd collection of things, scratch their head and shrug and walk out. Yet to you, each item tells a tale. A piece of a story. A memory. A joy. A sadness. A found. A loss.
These shelves have pictures of family moments. Baby pictures. Wedding, anniversary, vacation shots…all differently framed. Motorcycles. Skydiving. Beaches and mountains. Drums from shaman journeys. Evil eyes from foreign trips. Hunting knives from my dad’s collection over 40 years ago. An underwood typewriter from an earlier time. Dolls , vases from all different travels.
They each tell a story that can fill a book. They are lonely now. There was a time when they were bought and were the center of the moment of choice. But now they sit as mere background music to the larger story. But if you look, touch, reflect, dream, you remember everything about each one. They are family. They are part of your story. They matter. Spend a moment going through their history and you will rediscover your history. Each mattered. Welcome them back in to your present day. They can still participate in your dance.
They are ageless. Just like you.
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