I went to my mother’s house this last weekend. In her hall, just beyond her bedroom, she has a huge bookshelf, nearly wall sized, with three columns of shelves. Inside, each shelf is dedicated to a different member of the family. Her husband has all his kids on one shelf, their pictures mixed with momentos or knick knacks with meaning to those people.
My shelf has my prom picture of me and my husband way back when. (Sob…WAAAAAAAY back when.) My three kids take center stage, the oldest with a gold framed 8X10 from when he was roughly two. All dimples and sly grin. She has the piece of Manzanita wood I polished for her back in 6th grade camp. The bowl I threw for her in my 12th grade ceramics class. Ornaments I made as a little’un.
There’s other shelves, of course. A special one, with my brother and my sister who’ve both passed away, commemorating them and a plate with a poem on it that reminds us that while God may give us wonderful gifts, he never promised a life without loss, without sorrow. Next to that is her plastic box full of random scriptures on thin cards, the box cut to look just like crystal. I remember when she got those, almost twenty years ago, and wouldn’t let us touch it because we were bound to lose the cards. She wasn’t wrong, the cards are more than half gone, but each one is as pristine white as the day we snuck it open to see what secret random message God would give us today.
There are pictures of people I’ve never met, from her youth, from her family. Small gifts from grandchildren that I don’t know the story behind. Ornaments too old and precious to have on her Christmas tree because the dogs try to tackle the blinking lights and these ones are special. Pictures in lengthwise frames with multiple little faces peeking out, grouping the grandkids by family.
Amongst the shelves, there are also books. A can of polish and the towel with polish stains on the folded edge. A cup one of my own little girls has tucked inside to save for later. The movies she’s been collecting, most that she means to watch but hasn’t taken out of the plastic yet because it can wait a little longer. Some mail, a few ads.
If I had taken a picture, it would seem like a mishmash. Maybe a little more mash than mish. It wouldn’t have told the right story. In a few grouped items, I see a whole lifetime. I see a heart ache, pride, love and commemoration. There’s a lot more in my mother’s house than three bookcases, but I believe that a person could learn all they’d ever need to know about her if they were to simply take a look at each of those shelves. See the details as well as the larger picture each shelf formed. How she arranges the largest item in the center every time, radiating the sizes of things in an outward manner before the smallest items circle back toward the middle like tentacles reaching for one another. How nothing on those shelves has any dust on them. How each keepsake is ever so slightly overloved.
I’ve walked past those shelves a thousand times, but I think yesterday was the first time I ever really looked at them. Ever saw how much of my mother’s heart was standing there on display.
It makes me wonder, as most things do, how many things I’ve passed lately, not seeing the meaning. Not able to take in the sheer character all around me. But it’s there, where you least expect. Where you may have just forgotten to look.
So, I thought I’d ask all of you, is there a place in your home, somewhere that your heart is on display? Or is my mother perhaps one of those rare folks who simply have too much heart to keep it all inside?
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The hubby and I were having a discussion yesterday about giving gifts vs giving cash at weddings.
I like having a house full of things given to us by loved ones. I picked up a skillet and said this is from one of my brothers (now deceased) and every time I cook in it (rarely) I think of him.
We have a silver berry spoon framed in a shadow box (you know you’re country when you have a berry spoon) from an elderly friend (now also deceased).
We have hand painted placemats from one of his aunties, a clay baker from a best friend, a mail box from another buddy and the list goes on.
All the items are practical, beautiful, and remind me of the person who gave them to us.
BTW… I hope you printed this post off for your mom so it can go in her display also. (Perhaps printed on fancy paper and put in a frame) It is SO touching.
Moms are important. We wouldn’t be here without them.
I’d be absolutely no where without my mom. But, uhm, lol, I haven’t had a chance to show this to her yet.
See, I love that too. Knowing where each thing in my house came from, particularly the pieces given with love. Makes a house warmer.
Unfortunately I don’t have a specific shelf that I display my heart, it is scattered throughout my house. I have mementos on my mantle and a treasured picture of my in-laws on my bookshelf and trinkets my kids have made throughout the house. I do have a heart shaped ceramic jewelery book that my grandmother gave me as a young kid from the dollar store. I treasure this box because I remember my mamaw telling me that she was giving me a piece of her heart, so that I would always know that I was in hers. This happened when I was maybe seven and I can still recall the raspiness of her smokers voice. She passed almost ten years ago, but I never forgot her heart.
Awww Patty.
I have a pale pink ceramic heart from my grandmother too. She painted it even with all her arthritic bone spurs, giving one to each of her grand daughters. She also gave me some hand embroidered baby towels, for two little girls, which had struck me as strange as I had a boy at that time. She passed away a few years later and I held on to them, of course. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that two little girls came into my life many years after that. So they’ll have her towels one day, just the way she meant them to.
Hey my Deeva…
Brought tears to my eyes, when you described the shelves. Before my mom moved down here, there were pictures on the walls and she had boxes of all the stuff her three kids made. She still has the boxes, but they’re in the basement, except for some great momentos that flourish in her bedroom.
Me, well, i’ve some stuff, like my son’s work in certain grades, etc. Some of the things he made, like a totem pole out of a piece of firewood that was almost perfectly shaped. He painted it with his idea of who his father, me and he was…I have that still out by the fireplace.
But now he’s 20, soon, very soon to be 21 and i don’t have a lot of things left. Some baby clothes, pictures, lots of those, and a few small things.
My heart isn’t on display for everyone to see, not up front. But if you look closely, you’ll see little things spread out around the house. A knicknack here or there..a small rock..a bowl…something. And that suits me just fine.
Hugs!
Nini
Hi everyone. I not only read my daughter’s blog but all of the replies. My daughter’s description of my shelves is exactly as she interprets. I also have my mementos and special things that were given or made by my children throughtout the house. I don’t hide, lock away or toss on a shelf whatever my children, and now grandchildren have given or give to me. On my fridge door I have two clay glazed hearts made by small hands over thirty years ago, by my late son and his sister Pet. It would have been 3 hearts but one broke because the magnet didn’t adhere correctly. I also have a wooden pumpkin magnet made for me by my Dee. And other magnets, in a displayed manner, not disorganized, that were given to me by my grandchildren. In the livingroom I have knick knacks given to me by family members and my children. If I could have found a way to preserve the weeds in jars they gave me as little tykes, I admit they would have been sitting on the shelves too. I thank my daughter for her comments because it made me see that at least one caught the meaning of my shelves. I love them and when I cease to exist they will cherish that memory and pass it on to thier children.
Awww….that’s all i can come up with right now after reading that.
Nini
Hi, Dee!
I really loved reading that! You’re mom sounds like a really loving and caring woman to take the time to put that together. Or to even care to put it together.
You know, I used to have collages flooding one wall in my house. I had everyone in there. Friends, family, pets. However, after we decided to paint I just never put them back up. Well, now I know what I will be doing tomorrow.
Your Mom sounds alot like my mom. My treasures are pictures of my family members (past and present) who have touched my family’s life in so many ways. There is a picture of my maternal grandparents with my mom as a little girl and my grandfather in his army uniform. The picture of my dad who passed away some years ago and is in a talking frame. My brothers took a clip out of a home VHS that he had made a few years before he died of a sudden heart attack. I can now press the button and hear my dad’s voice say: “I think about you and miss you every day!”
I also have pictures of my mom and brothers, my husband and four children, my in-laws and various wedding day pics. The pictures all have a memory attached to them and are displayed so that the feeling of family and love are a constant reminder to all who pass through the room!
You have me thinking that perhaps a good way to get to know a character would be to create a mental shelf with items from their life.
On a shelf at my house, just under where the TV sits, is a Ford hub cap on one of those plate display stands. I’m sure people must pause over that, not your usual trinket and not especially pretty or unique. But we have it because my son picked it up at Virginia Tech. The spring he graduated was the spring of the shooting. A police car jumped a curb and nearly ran him over. He jumped out of the way in time but the hubcap rolled off and he saved it to remember friends lost. We save it as a reminder how close we came to losing our boy and how quickly they can be gone.
I think it’s a good example of how much a trinket can say about a character.
Hi Dee,
What a great post. I was not one to display a lot until I had my kids. Now my kitchen is covered in their artwork. I love to look at it and see how they have grown and changed. Then there are the pictures. I have pictures of my family all over my house. My mom passed when I was young and being the only girl in the family I got all the family photos when I moved into a home of my own. I love when someone new comes to my house and asks about the people in the photos. It helps me remember the good times that occured when the picture was taken and the people that star in them that may not be with us anymore. Thanks for this great post.
Karyn