460 Harriet Street

Day 4/365

{November 20}
As they pull up the driveway the excitement inside me is bursting. Today is going to be a wonderful day. One day as the first of many more to come like it. I can feel the energy as they exit the dingo. Smiles and laughs as they walk up the sidewalk to the door. As the door opens a burst of laughter fills the room. And I am ready. Ready for a day filled with talk, antiques, shopping and time spent together. With my mom. And my aunts. A day that has not happened before, and I now know what we have all been longing for in the past. A common bond to bind us all together, besides family. One that was not there before, and we've missed this. But it is here now and I am so excited to indulge in it, soak it all in and fill my heart with this. Antiques. We walk to the dingo.

The first stop. Sparta New and Used. A shop that is filled with antiques. Top to bottom, corner to corner, just packed full. There is so much in there you can smell the history, see the people of years gone by clinging to their treasures. They are really not there, of course, but you can feel their presence as you sift through their belongings. Begging for them to be taken home, to be treasured again, as they were treasured in years gone by. Decades ago.  Hours are spent in this store, items are purchased and packed into the dingo. Skis that once belonged to a Canadian Olympic skier. Hopps memorabilia. A bicycle. And off we go. Crafting.

The sounds of Christmas songs fill the air, the smell of freshly popped popcorn and the hustle and bustle of people fill the room. There are crafts galore. Mostly Christmas and holiday items, but crafts galore, none-the-less. We spend hours here, filling our list of gifts, one by one. As the hours tick by we mingle through the crowds. Laughter and excitement fill us. One more stop before we go home. Just one more. Treasures on the Corner. Back into the dingo we go, packing in our latest purchases.

There's no city or state. There's no name transcribed with the address. Above the address label is etched with pencil a name that is not able to be made out. It cannot be read. The wonderment of who it belonged to fills me. As I sit there looking at it I am consumed by where it has been, what it has seen, who had once packed it full of their most precious belongings. They lived at 460 Harriet Street. No City or State. I long for it to sit in my living room. My mom makes her way over to me, she can see the excitement filling me. This is what I am getting for Christmas from my parents. This trunk. A travel chest that once belonged to someone. Was carried all over the world, possibly, filled with their belongings. And now it is mine. And it once belonged to someone at 460 Harriet Street, No City, No State.

Today I gaze at it, again, in wonderment. As I always do each time I sit on my sofa. Wishing it would just be able to talk, tell me where it has been or what it has seen. Who had once packed it with their most precious belongings. Because I want to know, but never will... the mystery that revolves around it intrigues me.