Treasured Things

What’s trash to one is treasure to another, as it’s so often said. Few others are compelled to admire and delight in the same inventory of weird and ridiculous, horrendous and lovely things that speaks to me. My little mental attic is just as specific as anyone’s, and likely to be as unappealing to them as theirs would be to me.
Graphite Drawing: Treasured Things

But one of the pleasures of this individuality is the ability to share our stories about what’s stored in our unique vaults of ideation, whether in truth or fiction, and revel in our moments of visitation to unknown worlds through the tales. In writing, telling, reading, and hearing, we share and exchange ideas and beliefs, feelings and fantasies, insights and excitations with each other, all from the safe remove of communication that need not be wholly shared experience. After, we can choose to join in on the newfound interests and adventures, or we can choose to retreat to our own inner worlds, perhaps changed a little by the passage or, if not, only glad that we don’t have to dwell in each other’s lives and happy to return to the familiar comfort of our own favored inventories of thoughts and things.

14 thoughts on “Treasured Things

  1. loved the “mental attics” reference

    Brought to mind a game I played with my Mom, when she was terminally ill. We would fantasize about what “our heaven” might look like, since we made up our minds that just as it is possible that God takes on whatever image we need to see, perhaps our heaven would resemble whatever our idea of paradise might be, such as (for her) oodles of Pekingese puppies scrambling all around. To this day, whenever I see a Pekingese, I think of my Mom’s heaven.

    • Yes, my sisters and I have sometimes had that discussion, too. One of my particular fantasies includes that all of the puzzling questions that ever nagged me in life will be firmly and clearly answered. Another is my longtime assertion that if there are no carnitas as good as at our favorite Mexican joint back in Washington, I won’t go to heaven. Or at least they’ll have to allow ordering in, somehow. πŸ˜‰ Knowing me, the list of must-have foods will probably outstrip every other requirement of my version of heaven no matter how long I live. πŸ˜€

      Mine will probably have snuggly animals in it, too, since despite my never having owned a pet at all I dream of all sorts of sagacious and endearing animals very often, but I’ll try not to be too selfish and make sure I don’t steal any of your mom’s Pekingese companions. After all, I’ll still expect Richard to be on hand for his expert, massive hug attacks at consistently short intervals as well. πŸ™‚


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