Ellen shook her head and smiled to herself. She knew that what she saw in these things was invisible. She knew that they were mostly made of memory, and that she carried those memories alone.
They were like the lines on the pantry door where her mom used to keep track of all of the kids’ heights from year to year. The measuring was a part of their birthday rituals, along with chocolate cake and pretending that they all got along. Every line held an invisible story.
Ellen still has the coffee mug with the mountains on it that Jonathan gave her before their relationship got chipped beyond repair. She still drinks from it in moments of melancholy and regret, as if it will conjure him across the kitchen table.
She sometimes carries the amethyst heart she found by the lake the summer she tried to be a painter. She is sure there is magic in it!
Ellen especially cherishes the brass candlesticks that her great-grandmother brought with her on the boat from Russia. She has appointed herself the guardian of the memories of her ancestors. She can imagine the hands that have struck matches through time, illuminating faces long gone.
There are stories in these things. There is love and pain and treasured memories in these things. Ellen wonders if her treasures will all become trash, and thrift-store finds, when it is her time to go. For now, they all have stories to tell, and she loves to listen...
What stories do your treasures tell?
They were like the lines on the pantry door where her mom used to keep track of all of the kids’ heights from year to year. The measuring was a part of their birthday rituals, along with chocolate cake and pretending that they all got along. Every line held an invisible story.
Ellen still has the coffee mug with the mountains on it that Jonathan gave her before their relationship got chipped beyond repair. She still drinks from it in moments of melancholy and regret, as if it will conjure him across the kitchen table.
She sometimes carries the amethyst heart she found by the lake the summer she tried to be a painter. She is sure there is magic in it!
Ellen especially cherishes the brass candlesticks that her great-grandmother brought with her on the boat from Russia. She has appointed herself the guardian of the memories of her ancestors. She can imagine the hands that have struck matches through time, illuminating faces long gone.
There are stories in these things. There is love and pain and treasured memories in these things. Ellen wonders if her treasures will all become trash, and thrift-store finds, when it is her time to go. For now, they all have stories to tell, and she loves to listen...
What stories do your treasures tell?