Old Stories
I have an affinity for old things. Antiques, vintage items, the newspaper that’s five years old that I’ve held onto for some reason- I love them all. I love the connection to the past that these items bring, the headline on the newspaper that seemed so monumental at the time, but has long since ceased to be of any import. The mysteries that are held within the pages of an old book; whose hands held it? How many owners has it had? What stories could it tell of all the places it has lived? Then there’s Bobbsey Twin book that my grandmother read in the 1930s that now has become a part of my decor, how little she must have been when she first read it!
My husband and I love going to museums, antique stores, thrift shops, and estate sales- these are some of our favorite pastimes. It’s amazing the little bits of everyday history that are uncovered in these ways. I once stumbled upon a Mother’s Day card sent from Germany in the very early 1930s with a swastika on it; before it became the notorious symbol that it is today. Let us never forget how quietly atrocities can begin.
There is an old little basket perched on my piano, a miniature picnic style basket. In its tiny depths are antique handkerchiefs. Made and embroidered by my Great-Grandmother, my Grandmother, and Great Aunts. They are so delicately embroidered. I find it very interesting that in their hard daily life consisting of farm labor and no electricity that they found time to slow down and grace their lives with the finery of a hand embroidered handkerchiefs which have since endured nearly 100 years. By contrast we rush through life using disposable tissues, throwing them away and rushing on with our day. I think amidst these very mundane objects there is a lesson.
What will we leave in our wake? When we are gone and only our dust covered belongings remain what stories will they tell? Will they speak of a life lived in rushed excess; the hasty accumulation of more, but never pausing to enjoy any of it? Or will they tell of times spent simply and quietly with the people we held dear? The evening spent embroidering around a kitchen stove after a long day of field work. The delicacy and gentleness of a delicate handkerchief to offset the crudeness of farm life. Items such as these handkerchiefs tell of a life where hard work was mandatory, but rest was mandatory too. Where hustle was needed but family was needed more. Of a time not oh-so long ago when we settled in and took a deep breath before rushing off to the next thing.
This is what I see when I look at these artifacts from the past. Whether these items are passed down from my family or passed casually in a store; they serve as reminders for me to rest, to press pause, and take a moment to breathe. They are a reminder that time will pass whether we notice or not. Most likely too quickly in any regard, so let us hold onto this moment while it exists for all too soon it will pass as well. In the end, after we are gone our things will remain, at least for a little while, and they will tell a story about us- will it be the story we want them to tell?
Take a look at other Grace Notes
