Six days ago, Linda of Behind My Red Door posted about some of her favorite things. It made me ask myself what I valued in my life. I’m sure all of us would say family, friends, jobs, etc.–all of the things that enrich our time on earth. Material things don’t mean a lot if you are alone without loved ones. But, what are your favorite “things “ that have special meaning to you? A trinket is nice, but if it was left to you by your grandma, the value is changed—-not monetary value, but the value to your soul.
I’d like to share some of my favorite things:
This tiny little vase was left to me by my mother who passed away in 1989, three weeks after my dad. It was an unbearable time. Mom was born in a small village in England called Scholar Green—near Stoke-on-Trent. Stoke-on-Trent is where Wedgewood china is made. This small vase came to this country with my mother when she was six. When I was small,mom would sometimes fill it with violets from the yard for my room. It reconnects me with her when I hold it.
Next is this #3 crock. It’s nice, but just an ordinary crock. That is until I remember mom used to make dill pickles from cukes in our garden in it. I remember the big heavy plate she would put on top to hold them under the brine—I could barely even see the crock because I was so small. One day my brother and I got funny stickers in our cereal box, snuck into the kitchen and stuck them onto the crock of pickles—I can clearly hear mom and dad laughing as they read “worm food” on the crock, and dad calling us “ little rascals”
This is more recent. We were considering moving to Charlotte N.C. We took the boys on a mini vacation to Charlotte, stopping at Asheboro to visit the zoo, and then at Seagrove—a village occupied by many potters. I walked from pottery to pottery while Al drove alongside, until I spied salt glazed pottery at Westmoore pottery. I had read about them in Country Living magazine. This one was what I chose to keep. It reminds me of a happy trip together when the boys were young .
This is the whiskey jug my dad gave me. I don’t ever remember a time when it wasn’t at dad’s house. I believe it came from HIS childhood home. My grandfather was an alcoholic, my grandmother extremely religious. It must have made an impact because dad never brought anything to the house ,never drank, and never approved of anyone that did.
I hope I haven’t bored any of you—these things are important to me. I would survive if I lost them, they are much less valuable to me than my family, but they connect me to my past.
Have a warm day—Jan