I have a little book I found eons ago at a yard sale. It is care-worn and tattered, mising the front cover. I was intensely drawn to it.... it was as if the Lord placed a tiny light on the scruffy thing.
The title page is still intact, with the words: Bob White's Scrap Book: Containing Poems and Bits of Fascinating Philosophy of the Every Day. It was published by the Bob White Publishing Company, in 1934. There is even a scripted note reading: Bertha Mugule from Mrs. M. Mangels Dec. 25, 1934.
I adore thinking of the lives others lived.... were Bertha and Mrs. M dear friends? Was Bertha the choir director at Mrs. M's small country church? I love thinking about these kinds of things... .how people lived. I am one of those strange people who love to go walking in old cemetaries, for the very same reason. What peaceful places,and the passages you can find on some of the stones are so lovely.
My hubby is an auctioneer for hobby. He adores it, is knowledgeable and I love to hear him "call". Estate auctions are what he has done in the past, and they are very melencholy affairs for me. Although I know the families are doing what they need to do to reduce households, sell many things in a hurry, etc. it usually means this is done after the death of a dear matriarch, someone's daddy, or Aunt Grace. Going around and seeing boxes of well-loved Christmas ornaments, for-good pristine tea towels, the gravy boat once purchase at the grocery store for a few cents... now worth "something" because it is a collector's item...... it is a sad affair. it is also a great reminder that we cannot take earthly possessions with us when we go to our Heavenly Father.
One of the first auctions my husband had was one such auction. After all was sold... the items of "worth", there were boxes left over for charity, and a wagon full of refuse... .things no one wanted.
Bouncing a wee babe on my shoulder, I drifted over to the wagon. I found a tiny box that once held cards. Inside were tiny paper dolls! Meticulously cut, complete with gobs of lovely outfits, evening gowns, furs, stoles, tennis wear... and even some hand-drawn outfits. From looking at the styles, they were probably from the 1930's or 40's. A young girl's treasures.
I asked if I could have them,and the son said "of course.... it is all going to the dump anyway." Life is fleeting.....
While in this pensive state, I want to share a poem from the before-mentioned book by the author Whittier:
And so I find it well to come
For deeper rest to this still room.
For here the habit of the soul
Feels less the outer world's control.
And from the silence, multiplied
By these still forms on every side,
The world that time and sense has known
Falls off, and leaves us God alone.
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2 comments:
Chills, and not from the 'flu. ;-)
This is why most of my household belongings come from auctions or even rummage sales. I love using well-worn items, giving rise to thoughts of who bought it new and how many scoops of flour that old tin cup's measured out.
And when I hang up one of those beautifully embroidered towels that's never been used before, I can dry my hands with thanks for the unknown needleworker who took the time to make something I treasure. Plus it's thanks to that person, too, that I'm better able to remember to USE the things I make instead of storing EVERYTHING away.
Thanks for the memories. I'm feeling melancholy today and this lets me remember fondly without encroaching on my mood.
C
Oh, C! You are one soul who does understand! Your treasures are ones such as these, too.
Another gift of mine is having a dear friend in you.
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