"The world makes up for its follies and injustices by being damnably sentimental" (-Thomas Henry Huxley)

“True nostalgia is an ephemeral composition of disjointed memories.”

(-Florence King)

I’ve always wished I could be a minimalist with sleek furnishings and tables devoid of clutter. How is it that I’ve become such a pack rat? I can’t let go of sentimental things that touch me, and I surround myself with the memories they evoke.

I save letters and cards from everyone who’s ever sent them to me. I have difficulty throwing out flowers, even when they’re obviously lifeless. I guess it’s why I’ve learned to set up little vignettes on my desk, of disparate objects: I’ll never get rid of them, and so I pretend that there’s a method to this madness.

The little vase on my desk reminds me of a trip to the local potters in NC with my friends Gary and Linda. The dried miniature roses are faded and old, but I remember them as fresh flowers and can’t let go. A green glass paperweight is a treasure from Joe that has no particular purpose, it just brings me pleasure as it rolls around on my desk. My son, Eric, brought me a tiny hand-blown glass frog from Bermuda. He and I had traveled there when he was a teenager, and the first night there, I had complained about the awful noise that surrounded us all night long. By the next morning, when I realized that the noise was from the island’s tree frogs, I had fallen in love with them. I kicked myself when I got home and lamented that I should have had the glassworks shop make me a little tree frog.

Eric remembered, and some years later, when he lived and worked there, he had one made for me. When he visited, and handed me a tiny little box, I knew instinctively what he had done, before I even opened it. I was touched that he remembered that, and so of course, now it sits where I’ll always think of him.

Everywhere I turn in our home, I'm reminded of my parents, my grandparents, my son, my sibs, my friends. Their presence would surround me without things, but the things they’ve given me over the years are mementos that are very dear to me.

“The world makes up for all of its follies and injustices by being damnably sentimental.”

(-Thomas Henry Huxley)