Sometimes happiness is a group of prized items tied to a chair. Filled with messages and blooms, and of course time. The most precious gift of all.
Sometimes it is just the sight of polka dots that remind you of a little dress you wore as a child. A thin material gathered at the waist. That whipped around your legs in the prairie wind.
Old sewing machines remind me of the sound of that old familiar treadle churning steadily in another place and time. My granny, long gray hair twisted and plaited and tied into a bun, sewing me dresses. I see the light from her glasses catching darts of the sunlight coming through the window.
There were always quilts to warm my feet at night. Made out of necessity instead of luxury or needing something pretty. When pieces of the family wardrobe was salvaged and eventually put to another use.
Just as there were always round red pin cushions filled with hastily punched in pins, that held my dresses in place as they were hemmed. And seams ripped out and hemmed again to keep pace with my skinny GrOwInG legs.
Some days you look back and you’re sad for the things you’ve lost. For what was or should have been.
And then on the heels of those memories come flickers of sweetness, quick as darting rays of sunlight. Pinned in place where such things are stored for safekeeping. As fleeting and hard to hold onto as fireflies in the darkness.