Below, another beautiful thing that belonged to my parents. I'd rather have them, than this, but, there it is.
Made me happy that my son noticed this lamp and was captivated by it. He kept running his hands over the reverse-painted scenes and then he said, "Boats... I like this." He's three. Normally he only pauses for trains and things you can eat or throw, so chalk this brass and glass number up as his his very first interest in design.
Yes I'm taking in a variety of things from my childhood home, but only a fraction of what was there.
For example, I loved growing up with this working 1920's barber pole in our den. But I fear living in a creepy museum of my childhood. So, the pole? Very cool. But no.
Even still, there's so much stuff I can't give up, not yet at least. And now I need to live with these things to see if I can live with them.
The lamps came last weekend. Now I know they make me happy. I can live with them.
But then there's this clock. It was wound and working in that house for well over 35 years. It's on my wall now. It chimes and there have been times that, for a moment, I don't know where I am. Every 15 minutes I'm rocketed back to there, not here. And them and me then. And the sad, crushing reality that they just aren't.
But I can't part with it yet.
My heart is still broken. But like glass left long enough in the ocean, the edges will soften.
At least, I hope so.
Otherwise the clock? It's gotta go.