Zac and I browsed through a little antique shop this past weekend.
Antiquing is a favorite past time of mine. I love going through the little booths and looking at pots and pan, aprons, little nick knacks from a past era ... I imagine their lives. How many muffins had been baked in those tins, and by whom? How many conversations had been had around the olive green ash trays, how many tears dried by the delicate embroidered handkerchief's? Yes, I love all things antique. Rusted tin and old plastic toys and faceless dolls ... I love all of it.
I found these sweet little plates for a good price and snatched them up (oh so carefully.) I love mixing feminine and functional and rustic and farmhouse. Once again, I think it's because of the story that's behind all of those elements. Flowers... how we love them as little children. I've never met a child that doesn't want to pick a bouquet for mama, a woman that doesn't feel loved by the simple offering. Flowers are the essence of art, and of function. They grow exactly where one would need them, through the cracks of a sidewalk to cheer the lonely walker, in bushes outside for the bees to hum about - and their uses! Oh my at the uses of flowers. Sometimes I think of women long ago (and thankfully some now) that would wander through forest and fields and meadows and collect all the different herbs and precious petals to make tinctures and salves and even use them in food. Maybe why I love them the most is because when I pick a daisy, or smell lavender ...I feel connected. Connected to the earth, connected to the women that have gone before me, connected to the beautiful and artistic mind of God. Flowers are for everyone. They are for the rich, and for the poor, for the sad and for the happy, for the bird and for the bee. They are all encompassing.
I'm not sure how antique this plate is but on the back it says "Columbus Colorado Columbine." I love Columbines. One of the best parts about hiking in Colorado is winding around pine needle covered paths, drinking in the fresh air and the scent of warm wood...and every now and then, finding a delicate, bluish - purple Columbine blooming in the rocky terrain.
The past couple of days have been off and on rainy, then sunny, then cloudy, rinse and repeat. We are now in the full swing of spring - with blossoms and showers and the urge to go out, sometimes allowed and sometimes not. My favorite part of rainy days is my peanut butter faced kids, warm treats baking, sweet music, and sometimes..if I'm lucky, reading a good book.
I'm also obsessed with all the freshly rinsed leaves and the little crystal drops that hang from their tips. I love the little pools of water that form along the veins of leaves ... the child part of me still, to this day, imagines fairies flitting around the leaves, taking sips of the fresh water...perhaps washing their hair in it.
I rescued this teeny rose plant from the grocery store. There it sat in a dark corner, marked down (in price)... seeming just days away from drifting off and becoming part of the landfill. I snapped it up in a hurry and told it not to worry, that the dead buds could be easily snipped and that I still saw it's value. The special part is ...it's a yellow rose, and as many of you know ... stands for friendship. So, there I was , walking through the parking lot, laughing and telling my husband that the rose and I would be good friends. I love having something new to nurture.
"Don't wait for someone to bring you flowers. Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul."
I don't know who that little quote is by - but I found it rather intriguing. It's comforting to me to know that I am in charge of the garden of my soul. I get to tend it, feed it, clip of the dead buds and leaves...the ones that have past...let them go back into the earth. Sometimes the new growth scares me, not because it's ugly or deformed, but simply because it's new. My soul can grow and can spread and share and touch - or it can stay hidden beneath my many layers. It's really just up to me.
What a beautiful thought that heavenly Father gives us those options, those desires and that privilege.
Before publishing this post, I wanted to share one unrelated picture. As many of you know, I grew up in Mexico. Although I have lived in many places, nothing makes me feel more at home then a warm tortilla, a cactus in a pot, or the smell of clay. Zac and I found a little "tienda", quite by chance, this past weekend. It was stuffed to the rim and overflowing out the front door with Talavera loveliness. Even though my taste has changed a lot over the years, I still love just a bit of Mexican charm and culture throughout my home. So, we bought a few of these green and blue hand painted tiles to put behind my laundry room sink.
I can not tell you how much joy it brought to my soul to find this little shop with clay tiles and pots, beautiful sculpted metal flowers, beaded necklaces and sterling silver jewelry -just like the ones I would always buy from the Artisan shops downtown Chihuahua. I see that little shop as a gift to me...that every now and then...when I want to remember where I came from, I can take a short drive and be in the middle of Mexico in Colorado.
~ Have a lovely Tuesday my lovelies~