How often have we have heard, if only these objects could talk. I wonder who owned them. I wonder what their story is.
All these old things that I have collected, one by one throughout the years, are older than me—much older than me. They’ve been handed down from here and there, may be valued, maybe not; most of them are handmade in some way.
They bring beauty to my eyes. They create our home, and they will go on beyond me. When my body turns to ash, they will be passed on to someone else.
In some unexplainable way. I like to think that whoever owned these things before me, whoever created them, their energy lingers there and surrounds me. I’d like to think that my energy connects to theirs. It will go forward and make someone happy too.
As I dust them for the 100th time- I wonder where they will go on their journey—into different homes? Perhaps for another hundred years? Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I am glad they were in our home.
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