Sunday, February 28, 2010

Shasta Daisies, 1996

A tiny daisy-covered birdhouse amidst the pothos in my window sill.

Each time I notice this bit of knick-knackery sitting on the sill, I miss my grandma. I found this itty bitty back in the mid 90s in my favorite local bookstore-- The Book Fair. Carolyn, the store's proprietor had a variety of these hand-painted bird houses for sale in her shop. She'd painted them herself and she'd lovingly pluck one from a shelf and display it to customers if they showed an interest. Each one had its own design and color pattern, size and style--its own personality. When I saw this one it just said--Grandma. Well, maybe not "grandma" in general, but Grandma Mickey, in particular.

After Grandma passed away a few years ago, my birdhouse gift returned to me and I was flooded with memories of all the good things I loved about my grandma and the passions we shared. She loved her birds and flower beds. Two things I've loved best through the lens of her life.

Now, Carolyn is gone too. I have a used edition of The Living Shakespeare (1949) complete with underlined quotations, that I purchased in her store--it turns out she did the underlining there too!

It's a simple thing, this daisy covered bird house, but it represents a lot. Whole people spring to mind, when it catches my eye. Some folks question the point of keepsakes, of the things we find hard to put away or weed out. Yet, this birdhouse, that book, offer reasons such things are worth keeping. They bring smiles, recognition, and remembrance.

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