There is a little shop on the main street of Shakopee called "How Quaint". It is an Occasional Shop - named because it is only open occasionally. The shop is located in a tiny old house and each room of the house is filled with objects of the past. I love to walk through, taking time to linger in each room and to focus on the pieces displayed so lovingly. It is more than a shop of antiques and vintage items, it is somewhat of a museum of eras that I can recall. A doll that is now considered collectible vintage, is the same doll that I once played with. There is furniture that reminds me of pieces my parents had when I was growing up, dishes that remind me of my grandparents, collectibles that remind me of a dear Great Aunt. I often find myself thinking about history and the things we value everytime I shop there. As I hold a simple teacup, I wonder who was the first person to purchase this cup, were they drawn to the fine china, or to the tiny handpainted pink roses, did they sip from this cup as they entertained their guests, or did it provide them comfort as they sat at a desk writing a letter to a loved one. All of these things likely once had an emotional story behind them, but as an outsider looking in, I can only guess at what those stories might have been. I also wonder about how they came to reside at "How Quaint". Wasn't there family somewhere who wanted to save that china cup, those family photos, their daughter's doll, or their brother's hand tool?
It was particularly poignant to me visiting the shop this week. With record-breaking rainfall over the past few days, we have been dealing with the aftermath of a flooded basement. When John and I realized the other evening that it was starting to flood, there was nothing we could do but stand there and literally watch the water overtake our carpeting and anticipate the damage that would be done to our beautiful cabinets, bar, woodwork, and walls. I looked around at all the things that we would suddenly, without warning, need to move out of the way - either for their protection or simply to prepare for the future unexpected rebuild.
Here's a confession: I tend to be a bit of a packrat. In my defense, I think I'm a very organized packrat but, I know that I hold onto things that maybe should have been released years ago. (Wow - just realized that applies not only to many of the things I've collected over the years, but also perhaps on an emotional level as well - guess that's the subject of another blog though!) In any case, we began moving everything to higher ground and I took advantage of the opportunity to separate some of what I truly need or want to hold onto from the things that have served their purpose and can move on. I find myself thinking about the person who gave me that book, or the person who made me that item, or remembering the day that I found something - those emotional connections that I attach to these objects. That is the thing about things...sometimes they are just things. And sometimes they are more than just things.
As I grabbed one box intended for donation to goodwill, I saw a large holiday tin - you know the kind that flavored popcorns come in? I imagined that it was likely filled with long forgotten Christmas ornaments or old tree lights. As I lifted the lid and looked inside though, I was instantly taken back to my family holiday celebration at the turn of the century. (I think that makes us all sound so incredibly mature and wise that we can say things like "I remember the turn of the century"). It was Christmas of 1999 and there were warnings of impending doom about the turn of the year to 2000 making everyone take a moment to think about the passing of time. In that spirit, I had asked all my family members to contribute one item to a Time Capsule. My family is used to me making such strange requests - they typically never know what sort of crazy thing I'm going to ask of them - and to their credit, they always go along for the ride. To anyone else looking in this old popcorn tin, they would see the objects inside and immediately discard it as trash. They would see a piece of paper, an old newspaper, some fuzzy dice, an old pair of dance shoes, a worn out softball. But when I look inside, I see it differently. I see a piece of writing from my daughter's 9 year old hand. I see Jen's ballet slippers worn down to almost nothing from hours and hours of practice. I see my niece's softball - that was her sport and it was important to her (she even signed the ball). There is an empty beer bottle (John's contribution) and a dollar bill that my Dad labeled "the last dollar bill in my wallet". These are things. But they are also so much more.
These objects are a snapshot of a moment in time. They reflect who we were on Christmas Day in 1999 and what was important to us. We valued our talents, our dreams, our work, our play...and of course, our family. These objects are not trash to me - they are treasure and will remain a part of my own museum of history until I am no longer here. Maybe that is when they will once again become just things - when my sentimental connection to them is released - they will again be a pair of worn ballet slippers or a tired softball. Maybe they will end up in an Occasional Shop somewhere. And if so, that's ok. They may become just things once again and they may be left behind.
But the true treasure lies in the life they held once in the hands of my loved ones, in the lives we had then and in the lives we have now, the love that we have for the moment and the love that we have for each other. Those are the true treasures. Those are the things we keep with us and the legacies that we leave behind...
