Everyday Treasures

My grandmother (nonna) crocheted constantly, making beautiful creations–shawls, baby booties and blankets, doilies, table cloths, slippers, bedspreads–for her children and sixteen grandchildren. Every year on our birthdays she’d send pillow cases to me and my sister with a delicate crocheted edging. They were for our “hope chests,” which during our teenage years my sister and I began referring to as our “hopeless chests.”

I never learned how to crochet but always admired Nonna’s talent. Over the years, my pillow cases have become thread bare or torn, but the crocheted edges have endured with grace. I couldn’t possibly throw them away. I decided to remove a piece of the old pillow case with the edging and attach it to new pillow cases. Voila! I’ve preserved a pair for each of our six grandchildren, something handmade from their great-great grandmother, the one who emigrated from Italy so they could live a bountiful life in America.

My dad would no doubt chuckle at the notion I consider his milk carrier an everyday heirloom. It looks utilitarian, made by him sometime after 1940 when he became manager at the Iowa State University Dairy Farm. I can still see the four quarts of milk he’d bring home from the farm in the wooden carrier he’d painted silver and studded with his initials.

Our unpasteurized milk was farm to table, or udder to glass, which we drank three times a day without fail. My folks never bought milk at a grocery until my father and the milk carrier retired after thirty years at the Dairy Farm. Had we lived on a farm, our milk supply would not have been unique, but we lived in town.

I love to repurpose. Today I use this carrier as a plant container for small summer flowers. The handle allows me to move it from sun to shade as needed for the blooms. It makes me smile to use it.

Heirlooms or treasures become so because of the memories, people or events they are associated with. Maybe you have some sitting in plain sight, and they need another look. Maybe they are stored away under the eaves in your attic or buried in a basement box and need the light of day. I hope you have such treasures in your life that you can enjoy and share.

Before I leave, I have to grumble about the weather. It’s only January, and I’m in need of a huge dose of sunshine. We’ve had seven days of fog and bone chilling cold which is some sort of record for KC.

In spite of its beauty, I could use a little less of picture left and a lot more of picture right, which is our snowball bush. Oh, the irony.

Update on Lila’s Song: the first draft is finished. Two friends and fellow authors have read the manuscript and sent feedback. That means I have more work to do, but we’re getting there!

Although we are four weeks into 2024, I wish happiness, purpose and joy for each of you in the coming year. I hope the sun is shining wherever you are. Until next time . . .