Finding Keepers

As is his wont, Mr. Ginley picked up a book at random at the library last week. He mentioned that I might like to read it.

I did and was taken with both the stories in it and the theme.

Entitled, What We Keep, the book was penned by Naomi Wax and Bill Shapiro (no relation to Harry, as far as I know).

The idea was to collect 150 stories from random people, famous and not, of an object that is special to them, and why.

This got me thinking about all of the stuff I've accumulated over the years, and  what, among the flotsam and jetsam, has special meaning to me.

There are things that belonged to my parents, the letters my mom sent me when I lived in Virginia and hand-made cards from Mr. Ginley and Joe.

But I wanted to dig a little deeper and a little farther back. And that's when I landed on the toys of my early childhood.

The magnetic board with the alphabet letters. My dolls and stuffed animals. The child-sized wooden rocking chair. The toy piano with the one key that stuck and the Casper the Friendly Ghost plastic guitar -- alas, my only forays into music (and both of which are long gone, so unable to participate in this exercise).

I landed on two objects that held a special place in my heart.

First, the hobby horse that I rode and rode and rode, as far as my imagination would take me. It doesn't look like much now, but boy howdy, I thought it was something back in the day. Now the reins are frayed and the horse's head wobbles atop the stick. But it still makes me smile.

As does the Music Box Sweeper. Someone stepped on it (probably me) and dented the top. But I could still help my mom sweep up. It has a "Genuine Swiss Music Box" inside that plays, "This is the way we (fill in the task) so early in the morning."

As I recall, my mom had a hard time getting me to understand it was a toy and that she still had to sweep the floor for real.

One of the things I find endearing about my sweeper is it depicts both boys and girls doing the various tasks (although, admittedly, there are more girls than boys).

Maybe I'm just weird, but I love hearing stories about the things that people keep.

So if you've got a story, please spill.

Or, at the very least, take a minute or two to think about what you've chosen to hold dear.