Another snowstorm is making its way to the Northeast, and as we shovel and shop in preparation for a blizzard, I’ve decided to share a blog post from a few years ago. The choice was inspired by my surroundings. I’m sitting in the middle of my office floor, staring at a milky glass swan holding treasured seaglass, a stack of coasters made from pressed flowers, and several photos of loved ones in antique frames. My current tiny anchors.

~*~

In the late 1990s, I spent one day a week visiting and helping an elderly friend named Lucy. She lived alone in a large colonial house near Boston, and each time I arrived, I’d find her waiting in her favorite wingback chair, dressed up and wearing a bright smile.

Lucy spent most of her time on the porch. She lived in this window-lined room because, she said, the light gave her hope. Next to her chair stood a small TV table – the center of her world – filled with the essentials that kept her daily life in order. There was a crystal water carafe with a glass that fit neatly over the top, her favorite small pen nestled in a tiny notebook filled with scribbled notes, a sterling silver magnifying glass ready to spotlight the fine print of newspapers and pill bottles, and a well-worn address book that connected her to friends through phone calls and handwritten letters.

My father had a similar “command central” – the top drawer of his big oak desk. In it, he stored the nail kit that kept his fingers well-manicured, his favorite #2 pencils (always sharpened and ready for action), news clippings to share, and his checkbook, which may or may not have been balanced to the penny. I can’t remember.

I thought about Lucy and Dad this morning as I settled into my chair to write. I stared at the colorful Uniball pens that glide words across the pages of my journal, the hand cream that smells like spring, the antique clock that keeps time during meditations, and the small handheld calculator because I am my father’s daughter and always keep a manual adding device nearby.

What do these items say about us, these objects of affection that live in handy, familiar places? What tales do they leave behind?

As I considered the items we keep near, I realized they are like tiny anchors that hold our precious memories in place. When I see a nail kit, I think of my Dad filing his nails. When I use the small bedside carafe and glass I inherited, I remember Lucy and her sweet smile. Each time I use my calculator, I smile at the memory of working with my Dad.

Like breadcrumbs in a forest, these clues lead us back to the people and stories that shape who we become.

What do you keep on your side table, by your bedside, or in your desk drawer? Have a look. While they may seem like ordinary items, it’s good to know they may be hidden treasures someday – lifelines to those who hold you dear 💝.

Love,

Cheryl