A story of home

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The conservatory

Long ago I went to a church that had a church bazaar once a year.

Parishioners would donate home-goods and clothing to be sold to other parishioners and townsfolk.

For weeks ahead of time items would begin piling up and one day close to the actual event

volunteers would meet up to turn the parish hall into a market place...a shopping Mecca.

That is how I acquired this large ginger jar...or what ever it is.

After eyeing it in the corner for a number of days

and then again on a shelf during the sale

I finally purchased it for three dollars,

just as they were beginning to pack away everything that hadn’t sold.

Our smallish apartment has a tiny room that we refer to as

The Conservatory.

I keep houseplants in it and various instruments...guitars, drumsticks, an old thumb piano.

I’ve got my eyes open for a bongo drum and a harmonica.

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Everything has a story.


Most of what the things in our home once belonged someplace else.

Perhaps we are aware of the back-story or perhaps they come from a place we know nothing of-

Like the ginger jar.

After a while, what ever the story is, blends into our story...

How we acquired it,  who brought it to us,

or even who we were tag sale-ing with when it came to be

All those things mingle together to create a part in the story of our home.

One day, we will send the thing on it’s way to be part of another person’s story.

For today,  I straighten the slip-covers on the chairs

that were  my mother’s when I was a teenage girl,

And I hear the song and story that they play for me.

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Make it pretty Monday
All about home
Celebrate your story