Thursday, January 16, 2014

 I love to browse antique stores and wonder about the fingerprints left upon the wares. Untold stories tease, their silence foreboding. Family dinners of old come to mind. Sweet memories of sweet aromas, chopped apple cake and homemade crescent rolls.Happy family. Happy times.
 So many things remind me of my grandmother's kitchen. I picture her here and remember familiar stories, my story with her. I ponder my gratitude that she was in my life when I remember her home and her special ways.

 I'm drawn to the vintage linens. I sort through, my fingers running over the starched, crisp fabric. I say to myself, "eenie, meenie, miney, moe," The sales clerk stirs at my pause, "I will take this one," I say. She replies with happy sigh. "I will take this one, and this one, and this one, too." I picture tea parties laced with flower petals, porcelain and pearls on little square tables adorned in vintage. I imagine chatter and giggles, accompanied by the chiming of spoons. I linger awhile at the linen corner of the mercantile. My mind creates future moments that will one day be stories. "Don't part with the vintage linens, momma," my daughter shares my weakness for the romantic. So they are here, with me, waiting for the moment when breath revives the vision.
The most incredible find was a set of journals, seven of them all written by one man. Each journal was a five year journal with very small spaces for the day. The pages were written in here and there style. A little of this and some of that. "The weather is . . ." 
"The cows . . ." 
"The chickens . . ."
"My lady . . . " 
"We went to church . . . "
"Hotel over in . . . burned last night. So and so died. We tried to save him."

I bought all seven of the identical blue bound books, rich with biography. I brought them home and pored over them until long after sunset. Then I placed the tiny library, the bits and pieces of someone's life in a little blue vintage case for safekeeping. 

When Scotty and I were deciding what we would keep, what we would store, and what we would give away, I found it hard to part with this miniature. I love it. It inspires me. I stored it away back home. Memory stirs a pining for it.

The proprietor who reluctantly placed the treasure into my hands on the day of purchase also gave me letters from the author of the journals. A whole stack of line upon line, "this is how I am" letters. Gap fillers. Perhaps  I could create a story from this humble man's life, or maybe this is the story. Time will tell.

I was going to talk about various kinds of journals when I sat down to write this post this morning. However, I opened this post with a visit to an antique store. That always has the tendency to change the course of my journey. I would love to share creative journal ideas with you that I have used throughout the years. Would you like to hear? Or perhaps you have some that you would like to share with me. I would love it if you would tell me your creative secrets.

Whatever you do today, may it be special to you and to those whose lives you touch. I hope you enjoy the weather, notice the cows and chickens, hug those you love, and since its only Thursday, take a minute to pray about Sunday church. If you have an extra minute, maybe you could write bits and pieces of it down. Leave a legacy. It doesn't have to be about the big things. All the little things we do, they matter to somebody. 

Love and blessings.   

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