…To grandmother’s house we go.

The other weekend I joined several of my cousins at our grandparent’s house in the North Carolina mountains near the border of Tennessee. One afternoon, when it was quiet, I took out my camera and took photographs of a few of my favorite things. I had a second to really pay attention to my great grandmother’s organ that was in her living room in Florida (complete with songbook!), some Matchbox cars from 1955 that were my uncle’s and a crocheted quilt made by someone in my family years ago.

Taking some extra quiet time to wander through their house like it was a museum was wonderful. My grandparents traveled all over the world, there were artifacts from my grandfather’s Army tours over his 30-year career, and bits covering every decade of the last century. I used to go to their house in South Carolina and do the same thing, walk around and look at all the delightful things they were attracted to at one point in time. It reminded me that that’s part of why I love older things, because they all have a journey and story to them, all different, all magical, all lovely.