After brunch we happened across a pawn shop that is going out of business and snagged this retro shelf for $10. I just added a few sea-foam painted details and it was finished. And perfect.
Do you spy a spotted weenie-dog?
By nature I am a book-buyer instead of a library-goer. Today I collected books from around the house, happy to give them a spacious new home. I rescued them from their displaced lifestyle, saved them from the stacks in the living room corner. By the time I had acquired all of the necessary books, knickknacks, and photos, I had unknowingly created a three-dimensional scrapbook of my life. Seeing my hodgepodge articles lined up together made me strangely nostalgic. Maybe it is due to my changing hormones. I finished breast feeding last week and I've been feeling weepy ever since.
There are so many memories crammed into that little three foot space. Each item tells a story that only I know, each holds a certain weight in my mind. At first glance my eye catches all of the objects on the shelf: the goldfish jewlery box we bought on Catalina Island on our honeymoon, the bamboo plant from our baby shower, the seashell paperweight that I used to marvel at for hours as a child, the rosary my grandma bought in Jerusalem. There are the child-sized boots that we bought on our first weekend trip away to Santa Barbara. Back when we were only dating. We spotted them in a thrift shop and just had to have them for our "someday child." There are painful items rubbing elbows with joyful memories. The ultrasound of the first baby we lost, the vintage radio which came as an unexpected Christmas gift from an old friend.
And then there are the books, books, books. Perhaps the most telling clues of my life in the past ten years. They start out with classics like Charlottes Web, Romeo and Juliet, a collection of works by Edgar Allan Poe, The Catcher in the Rye, The Poetry of Abraham Lincoln, and The Grapes of Wrath. The "required reading" type variety. There are just-for-fun books like Tuesday and Andy Warhol: Pop Art Painter. My Bibles sit next to each other. The one from my youth with nibbles missing from the cover. The paper-bites were devoured by my free-roaming bunny who always pooped under my bed. Then the books shift to my Welcome to Adulthood (it sucks) books: Taking Charge of your Fertility, Catholicism for Dummies, HypnoBirthing, Bad Hair, and Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child.
And finally come the parade of books that become a little too personal for my comfort level: Babyproofing Your Marriage, His Needs Her Needs, When the Vow Breaks, Faith and Culture Devotional, The Five Love Languages, Wild at Heart, Captivating, and Financial Peace University.
Staring at the reality of my book-life really makes me wonder what titles will line my shelves ten years from now...
But as a little omen of good fortune I keep my grandmother's wedding cake topper close by.