As someone who has WAY too much stuff, I’m always interested in containers. Not your average plastic containers, but “artsy” containers, though I don’t always put anything in them! This is a photo of one of my favorites.
This turtle box used to sit on my grandmother’s coffee table. It now sits on one of mine.
Every time I look at it, I see her living room in my mind: my grandfather’s green vinyl chair in the corner where he smoked his cigars and read the paper, and the floor lamp with three bulbs covered with plaid shades behind it. Across the room was the couch nobody sat on except a couple of dolls and the stuffed bunny with a dress that someone made for my grandmother. (I was sad that the bunny got thrown out…I definitely would have treasured that.) On the other wall, two armchairs people actually did sit on, most notably my grandmother who would be quietly crocheting in one while my grandfather sat reading his paper across from her. In front of the couch was the coffee table, the home of the turtle box. I don’t know who gave it to her or why. I would guess from the size and era of it, it was supposed to be a cigarette box, but of course we all know a container’s purpose is limited only by its size and its owner’s imagination.
This turtle has a very worthy purpose…don’t let it fool you. It may appear to be empty, but it is full of my memories.
I love to see the remnants or relics of the past still hanging around. As if these things have a spirit and won’t give up. They linger like ghosts. I have a certain admiration for that.
Recently I was surprised to stumble upon this old piece of farm equipment in a public park. Why didn’t those who created the park get rid of it? It was intriguing to me to see this trace of civilization in a beautiful natural setting.
I’m similarly drawn to the remnants of old docks. The leftover pilings remind me of grave markers in the water.
With salt water especially, it is hard to make things last. If maintenance is not done vigilantly, nature will reclaim what is hers. Leaving behind just the remnants of someone’s attempts to take something that didn’t belong to them, making me wonder about a past I can now only imagine.
I feel like a fairy hiding in a basket of birches woven along the shoreline…