An article landed in my inbox this week. A man was reminiscing about an old lamp that sat in the living room of his childhood home. He held a finial, the decorative top piece that keeps the shade in place, in his hand. A smile bloomed on my face, immediately understanding how he felt. I’ve stood in antique shops and thrift stores cradling an object in my hand, lost in a cherished memory.
I enjoy my treasures. As I walk thru my front door I am greeted by an abundance of artifacts. Artifacts from my husband’s childhood in Yugoslavia rest companionably near my grandfather’s carpenter square. A picture painted by Yugoslavian artist, Jovan Obican hangs adjacent to a hand drawn painting of a rooster my sister created for me. An antique hand held mixer rests on the kitchen window sill.
These things and many others fill my home with memories. They make my house a home and ground me in the roots of my heredity.
And then……
Another article popped up in my inbox today. It proclaimed our houses are filled with things that should be immediately thrown out. The article touted the danger of the germs swimming around us. Immediately I envisioned microorganisms crawling through my cabinets, over my floors and on all my possessions. The article mentioned treasured mementos and things you keep out of guilt. Their advice? Toss them! And extra buttons? Get rid of them. You will never use them anyway.
Feeling guilty for enjoying my treasures and more than a little grossed out, I thought about divesting myself of everything except basic essentials. It really would make it much easier to clean and dust. And that button box does have tons of one of a kind antique buttons I will never use.
But I would also give up the comfort of snuggling into my antique wingback chair, my grandmother’s handmade quilt across my lap, reading a book discovered in my last thrift store perusal. No thank you. I think I’m okay with things just as they are germs, dust and all.
I have always loved reading. When I was very young, I remember going to the public library over the summer. I’d get lost in the books and spend hours selecting which I wanted to read. The Edwards Public Library in Henrietta, Texas was approximately 10-12 blocks from my house. A few times my mother allowed me to walk to the library if my older sister was willing to accompany me. Most of the time, my mother drove us to the library because she loved books and reading as much as we did. I signed up for the book worm reading club each summer. Reading one hundred books over the summer would earn us a small orange striped pin in the shape of a worm. I pinned that worm proudly to my t-shirt when the librarian handed it to me. I doubt if I ever wore it again but I was so proud of earning it. Reading one hundred books was not a chore for me and I would have easily read them over the summer without any incentive.

One book I remember checking out from the library was The Bully of Barkham Street by Mary Stolz. I don’t remember much about the context of the book although I remember I enjoyed it when I read it. I vividly remember the book because it was one of those hundred books I read that summer when I was eight years old and because of the letter that came in the mail afterward.
I finished my reading list and received my coveted book pin. About a week later my mother received a letter in the mail.  The librarian said I had never returned The Bully of Barkham Street. I was devastated! I treasured books then as I do now. I couldn’t imagine being so careless. I assured my mother they had made a mistake, but she still had to pay for the book. I had never owned a book before and I hated to pay for one I didn’t get to keep. With five children and a one income family it wasn’t in the budget for my parents to pay for the book. However, my mother paid for the book and never made me feel bad about it.
A few months later I went out to my favorite reading hide out. My grandfather had built a handmade camper shell to fit in the back of his 1950ish pickup. When it was off the truck, I monopolized it for reading. It was private, comfy and quiet. I stretched out on the cushions that served as one of the beds and felt a lump under the cushion. Yep! The Bully of Barkham Street was wedged under the cushions. It was a bit warped. It had been sat on and moisture in the air had made it’s way into the camper shell damaging the pages.
I debated throwing it away without telling my mother, but I just couldn’t do it. I carried it in and showed my mom. She just shook her head and sighed as she handed it back to me saying, “Well, it’s your’s now.” Dejected, I carried it to my room. I’m not sure what happened to that book, but I’m pretty sure I never returned a library book late again.
The first new book I ever owned was a Bobbsey Twins hardcover. I have no idea which one, because I eventually read them all. I was in the hospital for about a week and my Aunt Carol came to visit. She brought me a pair of pajamas with orange fish on them and two Bobbsey Twin books. My dad bought me a pair of pajamas with Cowboys and Indians on them trimmed in red rick rack. Yes, those are very vivid memories for me even years later.
Being the middle child of five, I felt spoiled and very special! My brother and sisters stood outside my window and we both cried. We had never been separated before.
I think the two incidents above cemented my love of reading and book ownership. I have a hard time giving up a book once I purchase it. At last count my book collection was well over 1500 and growing. I routinely decide to downsize my collection and cull a few books, but before I know it, they are replaced and more are added.
When I retire, I’ll stick to my plan to downsize but for now…. I think I’ll go read a good book.
I recently came across a forgotten piece of writing. In February 2008 I was taking several classes and one of my assignments was to discuss the room where I chose to write. Now seven years later, I was curious to see how much if any, my writing and my writing space have evolved.
My 2008 version.
I have created a new space to write for this class. My previous space was in a room at the back of the house. (A place I never visited.) My new space is in the northeast corner of my dining room, where the walls are a soft mocha color and my elephants dance across the shelf of the half wall into the living room. The elephants represent a collection that seems to keep growing, each one with its own memories of where they were collected. Some were gifts; some were finds on vacations or one-day adventures. I love the solidity of elephants.
Just a few of my numerous elephants!Teapot
Beside me sets our dining room table filled with memories from our family gatherings, homework sessions and board game marathons. The table is an old English pub table from the late 1800’s. I guess it isn’t practical for family usage, but it was purchased before our family was born. On the wall above the table, shelves house our collection of Hummel plates. They remind me of Ron’s parents and make me remember all the experiences Ron and his brothers had growing up in Belgrade while their dad was stationed at the US Embassy. The shelves they rest on were a gift from my son and make me think of him and smile. On the bakers rack which sets against the west wall, the top shelves are crowded with cookbooks. The cookbooks are an eclectic combination of home style, vegetarian and bread baking. My daughter and I have been collecting cookbooks for as long as I can remember and we love flipping through them.
The light in my writing space is a mostly from the overhead ceiling fan, but just past the half wall into the living room, the light from the north window shines brightly today. If I let myself I could be very distracted by it’s invitation to step outdoors. I can see the oak trees soaking up the sun and remember the acorns they dump all over the ground in the fall. But back to the room. I am seated at a small secretary desk with numerous cubbies in the back.
When I sit at it I feel strong and capable. I purchased the desk, post divorce with money I earned working many hours of overtime. It is mine, purchased with my own money and picked out by me. I love it! It is great for writing. It holds my laptop perfectly. The dining room is in the center of my home and makes me feel plugged in when I am writing, even if everyone is asleep or out. It is much more comfortable here than trying to stash myself away in a quiet room. I can’t finish describing the room without mentioning the wooden floors, my son and I spent two days installing. What a chore, but what a great feeling when I look down and see how nice they look and remember the two days spent one on one with my son. So, this is the space I have created to write in. I look forward to many hours of relaxing creativity.
My 2015 writing space.
Many of the same items listed above still surround me in my home, but I have moved a desk in front of that north window. I still have the desk I sat at in 2008, but I am using a much larger desk with room for my computer and two large monitors today. Many more memories crowd the spaces in my mind and my elephant family has become prolific. My writing space has not changed dramatically and I am pulled toward the sunshine out the window just the same as before. I still can’t sit in a quiet uninterrupted place and write. My writing is definitely more routine and although my first novel isn’t complete, it is underway. I am curious where you all choose to write. Am I alone in needing to be in the midst of my family activities to be the most creative? I look forward to hearing your thoughts!
I recently resurrected crocheting as a hobby. It’s been years since I created anything with yarn and a crochet needle. Crochet patterns and yarn have changed significantly. I practiced on some old yarn I found stored in my sewing supplies and contemplated what I should create.
When my daughter was scheduled for surgery on her broken ankle, I knew I would have some down time while I waited. I decided it was time to start a project. I intended to pass time during her surgery by crocheting. A great idea, but I didn’t get to the store before the surgery.
Because I would stay with my daughter in Tulsa while she recuperated, I picked up yarn the following evening. Although I had crochet needles at home, I picked up a new set along with a two skeins of yarn, (Yarn Bee, First Love, he’s the one) a beginner refresher book and a basket to hold the yarn. The baskets were half price so I couldn’t resist.
He’s the one!
I found a basic afghan pattern and realized I would need a lot more yarn. The yarn I purchased was variegated so I decided not to worry about the lot#.
I headed back to the original Hobby Lobby and discovered I had bought the last two skeins. I did find and purchase 4 small skeins of a nice cotton blend. After all they were on clearance. How could I resist? En route to the second Tulsa location of Hobby Lobby on East 71st, I spotted a Barnes and Nobles and decided I would duck in for just a minute. An hour later I realized I had no idea what time the second Hobby Lobby closed. I paid for my books and rushed off in search of ‘he’s the one’.
As we pulled into the parking lot of the Hobby Lobby on 71st, I could see people milling about as I hurried toward the entrance. No luck. A store employee waved me away and mouthed, “We are closed”.
I searched for the yarn online and discovered it appeared to be sold exclusively at Hobby Lobby. The yarn was out of stock for on-line purchasing. The next morning, I called the store on 71st and found out they were also out. Apparently, ‘he’s the one!’ was a big seller. And so began the quest for ‘he’s the one’. An internet search identified Hobby Lobby stores in two nearby towns. A phone call to Owasso confirmed they were out of the yarn but the Broken Arrow store had 4 skeins in stock.
My husband set off to Broken Arrow to pick the up the yarn. He returned triumphant with the four skeins. That was great but I still needed more yarn.
We would drive home through the Dallas area the next day, so my husband called the Dallas Hobby Lobby on Preston. As I was making lunch, I could hear him on the phone. “Yes, I need to see if you have a specific yarn.” (pause) “Yarn Bee, First Love, he’s the one!” He had to keep repeating, “First Love, he’s the one!” as he was disconnected twice and transferred between departments. I believe he just demonstrated, he is definitely the one! Finally he was told that yes they did have 5 skeins. The sales clerk said no they could not hold them until tomorrow and no he couldn’t purchase them over the phone.
Still searching for yarn, I made an afternoon trip to Tuesday Morning and found 4 skeins of cashmere yarn and 2 of a lovely wool blend on the clearance aisle. Of course I had to buy them!
When we left Tulsa, OK for Austin, TX, I used Google maps to locate a Hobby Lobby in Sherman, TX where we found 4 more skeins of ‘he’s the one!’ on the shelf. Score! Stopping by the clearance section, I found several more skeins of yarn which found their way into my cart.
Work In Progress
I now have 10 skeins of ‘he’s the one’, and about the same number of skeins of miscellaneous clearance yarn. Doing the math I realized I could use a few more of ‘he’s the one! We set off to find the Dallas store to determine if they had any of the five skeins left. Upon arriving, I rushed to the yarn department to grab all five skeins which were still on the shelf! I completed the quest! This will be a lovely and fun project!
Now I just have to buy a bigger basket for all the yarn and figure out a few more projects. Aren’t clearance sales wonderful?
I love to wander through books stores, (yes the brick and mortar stores). I get such a feeling of companionship when I hold a book in my hand. I love the feel of the paper and the colors and images on the cover or dust jacket. I easily get lost trying to find a story line that intrigues me.
Although I do love the crisp new pages of a newly released edition from my favorite author, a meander through the aisles of a used book store is an entirely different adventure. Browsing through the pages I often find loose paper used as book marks. Instantly, my mind begins to imagine the previous owner of this book, which has found its way into my hands. I start to visualize the person, securing their reading glasses on the bridge of their nose to begin reading. The door bell rings….. they grab a slip of paper, or bookmark and save the page. Suddenly, I’m creating a scenario regarding who might be on the other side of the door! Such fun and entertainment. What a joy!
As I lug my bags of new-found treasures home I can’t help but wince a bit as I imagine the shelves filled with previously garnered treasures and wonder where the new ones will make their home. It feels like losing a good friend when I have to part with a book. I almost always, think that I may get back to reading it again. However, space and organization dictate that I must set some free in order for others to take their place.
The very best option, is to find a new home for my books with family and friends, but if that isn’t an option, I like to donate books to someone who can enjoy them as much as I do. I know that a book is simply an inanimate object, but the pleasure of turning the pages can make any day a little bit brighter.
A picture painted by Yugoslavian artist, Jovan Obican hangs adjacent to a hand drawn painting of a rooster my sister created for me. 
An antique hand held mixer rests on the kitchen window sill.
my grandmother’s handmade quilt across my lap, reading a book discovered in my last thrift store perusal. No thank you. I think I’m okay with things just as they are germs, dust and all.
Nana's Apron Strings 