Oh the brocante and the simple joy it lets me discover. Tucked inside a homemade box, made especially to hold a person’s sweet souvenirs –
Glassine paper wrappers, once filled with Jordan almonds, favors for communions and marriages. Folded. Saved. Kept.
When I saw the tiny wrappers I smiled at the dealer. What a sweet little piece of history.
I thought of my mother.
How she slipped invitations into her Betty Crocker red checked cookbook to keep them safe.
Old wedding announcements. Special occasion cards. Handmade Valentines cards.
These weren’t invitations, exactly.
But someone cared for them just the same.
A little box fashioned from cellulose and cardboard.
Inside, the bags, gold foil, religious imagery, chalices and hosts still catching the light, hand painted floral details-
Hard to imagine they survived at all.
Wars. Floods. Moves. Clean-outs.
The throwing away of things deemed too small to matter.
Delicate things like this usually vanish with each generation going through the boxes of their grandparents souvenirs.
And yet, here they were- over 100 years old and still delicately sweet.
Neatly folded. Gently preserved.
Little paper souvenirs of joy and ritual.
No, it’s not a Sotheby’s painting.
Not a gold necklace. Not something of monetary value.
But memories have their own meaning to hold in to and share.
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