This little writing piece is part of a writing workshop I am participating in today.
This simple brown box speaks to the world about a time in New England when life was made by hand. When looking at this box the world might imagine it in a farmhouse kitchen or dairy. One might imagine a woman reaching for it to scoop of cornmeal or pull out a cheese as she prepares a meal over the wood stove for her family. Or one might imagine a farmer slowly wetting this wood and bending it into the circular form to create a supremely utilitarian yet beautiful holder from wood on his own land.
To me this is a memory box. Open the box and inside reveals my Grandmother's world. It lived in her closet by her sewing machine and contains buttons from her clothing and that of her children. It contains her children's teeth pulled quietly from under a pillowcase back in the 1940s, a silver thimble fit perfectly on her hand until her hand grew too gnarled by arthritis for it to fit, and a scrap of cloth with her initials carefully cut from her wedding linen.
The box connects the two of us and our love of sewing, history, family and home. Today this box made by a farmer, loved by my Grandmother, now lives in my closet where I drop in buttons from family clothing and tuck in my childen's teeth. Threads through time are in this box.