It's funny how closely our memories are tied to possessions. Holding a familiar object can transport us so vividly to another time and place. All our senses engage and suddenly we can smell, taste, and even hear the past with amazing clarity.
My personal time machine is in the form of a small child's quilt. It's red and cool to the touch, and I spent hours spread across it happily coloring and reading at my grandmother's house. Now the quilt resides at my mother's, and she uses it to cover my son during movie time or when he isn't feeling well. When I look at Weston all snuggled up in something that brought so much comfort to me as a child, it's almost as if he is wrapped in safety and love instead of fabric.
My friend Maggie recently told me a story about a necklace. It was a piece of Sara Coventry jewelry that she fell in love with at an estate sale. The vintage necklace was so important to her that she chose to wear it for Senior portraits and during many memorable high school events making it synonymous with that time in her life. While away at college, her home was broken into and the necklace was stolen. Being a vintage item lost before the Ebay age, Maggie felt her hopes of replacing the necklace were slim. Time went on and the necklace became a fond, but distant, memory. Then a few months ago, while doing some internet research, she came across the very same necklace on Ebay. While not her original piece of jewelry, seeing the item still brought on a swell of nostalgia. It reintroduced her to the girl she was at the time it adorned her neck. Maggie was comforted to come face to face with the item that was once so dear to her.
It is so exhilarating to stumble across the "props" of our past. Especially, when those items are accompanied with fond memories. Working in an antique and vintage shop, I am privileged to live a life centered around remembrance and cherishing the items that fill our lives. I think we could all benefit from time spent as our own personal archeologists. Who knows where you will uncover that long forgotten favorite storybook, or the trusty BB gun you drug around all over the yard looking for varmits? It could be at Grassy Valley.
