I know that a life is made up of more than just things. However, I can't help but be reminded of how happy I am when I'm surrounded by things that have a story, or evoke a feeling of closeness, of home, of beauty. Looking around my room, yes! I fully admit it---I get a little thrill knowing that I manipulated these objects around me into aesthetically pleasing...um... piles. Ha!
This is a vase of poppy pods that I picked from my Grandparent's yard last Sunday. Earlier this spring the blooms were the size of my hand. This may not seem to be such a miracle to you dear reader, but I happen to have large, strong, hands.
There is a haunted piano in my room, too heavy to move, and so out of tune that I don't play it. It snaps and twangs with the change in temperature, and sometimes wakes me from a deep sleep with a loud "THWTTTRRRIIING!"
The geranium on my sill has a strong scent which transports me to cooler summer porches in my mind.
These little treasures are delightful, and make me smile. However, nothing makes me smile more than finding a true treasure!
Do you know what this is????! This is an ANNE BARKER origional Raku POT! The big sister of this pot resides in our home in Maine, high on a book shelf. It always intrigued me how Mom had managed to get the closed form so thin, and get the perfect crackle on it. This volcanic looking vessel, was so incredible to me.
WELL! This pot, O' best beloved, is a sweet variation of the one I spent most of my young life pondering. I knew it the moment I looked on it that this was crafted by my mother's hands. I turned it over with hungering eyes, hoping to find some proof that this was indeed hers, and not just my wishful thinking.
There it was. The stamp. The design my father had created years ago of their special initials intertwined.
If you asked me to draw the picture of my family, I would immediately draw this symbol.
It makes me smile. It warms the deepest parts of my heart to think of where she was when she crafted this. Who she was at the time. What she had taken on as her identity. What our family has taken on as it's identity.
The Dutch priest Erasmus said, "Nowadays the rage for possession has got to such a pitch that there is nothing in the realm of nature, wheather sacred or profane, out of which profit cannot be squeezed."
Is my contentment the profit that I squeeze from these things?
Am I more connected to the thing or the memory it carries? Most certainly the memory.
Purging closets and junk drawers also gives me great satisfaction. I can let go of things. When I imagine my future it is most often in a minimalist setting, with the bare essentials. But I know that I'm not that way naturally. I'm born to nest.
I only hope that I can always separate myself from the object, and instead remember the person, the experience, the story associated.
I can't take it with me. I really do know that. And there are so many things that I can do without.
There are some things that I can't.
*and not to be cheesy but...The beautiful natural world around me
Does any possession of yours reminds you of a person, place or time?