A dead woman's Fendi purse

During my 20 minute lunch break today, I found myself staring at a Fendi purse in an "antique" shop, behind a glass case. I'm not sure what it was that intrigued me about it... it was a simple design, probably from the 60's and most certainly, the woman that had owned it, was long gone. But, that was it, she was long gone, and here I was surrounded by things from people long gone.

Here in this collection of odds and ends, of ancient wedding photos, and signed autographs  of celebrities people of my generation have never heard of -- here, in the world of ancient typewriters with keys missing and fragile stemware, that was probably held up in celebration or mourning, here, my fellow scavengers and I, were looking at what once was touched by life.

I'm sure if I could have picked one object, a discarded saddle, end table, no longer in vogue crystal lamp and asked it to tell me, what it had seen or heard, what stories of success or failures, personal pain and triumphs, my heart would have spilled on the table. But instead, it would not confess of its owner, alive or dead, in good health or wasting away in a nursing home somewhere, with not a family member or memory to recall.

We've often heard that we can not take the things we have with us, and this place is most certainly a testament to that. I, myself, am guilty of having a few coveted items I can don so that, when necessary I can appear among the elite, appropriately configured. But, what does it mean, really? At the end of my life, they will sit here amongst the other relics of the once living. Which of course, often makes me pause, as to why we bother -- why do we spend so much time with the things of the world.

My desire to find a "low price" buffet is what brought me there, to that odd requiem of material things. But what I left with, was a love of my own, little space. My own little world, where you might trip over a sad matchbox car made in China or find way too many pieces of paper with a child's scribbles on a table, or a stack of newspapers that need to be recycled. Most importantly, what you find in my home, are two beautiful small children and a loving husband-- and granted, a lot of destroyed and scratched up things. But, each of these things, in this tiny home, tells a good story of love and mostly giggles, and are not treasured enough to end in a requiem of memories for others to pilfer. And for that, I am glad.