Under the Eaves

In all homes, there are hidey-holes where the treasures of our lives reside.  Mine have several homes, the most notable is under the eaves where boxes (plural) of photos and mementos lie in wait.  Albums fill most of a bookcase beside my desk chronicling special events, trips and the growth of our family's history.  What is not yet in the albums is under the eaves. And there is a lot of it.

Saturday was the perfect day for me to sort thru the mementos and see what should be kept and what should go.  The pictures are wonderful reminders of happy times but do I really need ticket stubs and playbills?  I don't think my decendents need quite that much detail of my everyday life!

Caffe Florian, Venice

I found treasures and photos of some events which would have slipped my mind forever without the visual jog.  In the bottom of one box I found a packet of sugar from the Caffe Florian in Venice where Bob and I swooned as we listened to the musicians play.  Not something I consciously saved but something which slipped to the bottom of the box unnoticed until I found it the other day and I could hear the music once again and feel the vast darkness of Piazza San Marco surround us like a velvet cape. I remember the soft coo and rustling feathers of pigeons settling in for the night knowing that another feast will await them in the morning when the tourists wake up and explore.

Moments in time - my time - sometimes shared with others, sometimes experienced alone.  Savored.  I think I will make a cup of tea now and sprinkle some sugar slowly over the brew.