I read a newspaper article about a celebrity who died recently; an auction house was selling off his memorabilia. The word memorabilia caught my interest. What memorabilia did this celebrity own, souvenirs from foreign countries, mementos of movies he starred in, or relics from past relationships? My imagination flashbacked to a slide show of possibilities.
It was not long before the thread carried over to my own mementos. What fluff and necessities surround my persona to add spice to my life? Memorabilia personify our lives; they scream uniqueness. A leather jacket we bought with our first paycheck, a 50th birthday cake candle, a favorite writing pen, a torn theater ticket... each hold special meaning to us. They are the original time machine, returning us to moments when the world coddled us in a special way. I find them to be those little blurs in life that shadow us as we go through life. They stop by our memories like old friends, repine a moment or two, then let go till next time.
A special keepsake of mine is a handwritten letter from my grandmother. When I clutch it, I transfer back to my youthful days, helping Gramma iron handkerchiefs, exploring the back yard for 4-leaf clovers, or sipping a small glass of coca cola she poured for me. Her handwriting leaps off the envelope right to my heart, warming my spirit with her angelic presence. Memorabilia... what a fine word.
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