Small Wonders Project: the little book of secrets
I have always been enamoured by my mother's vast collection of artifacts and antiques. She has little caches of them stashed all over the place; between her home, my garage and the basement of my brother's house. Some pieces are nestled in tiny old cigar boxes, wrapped with newspaper and sealed in Ziploc bags; others are wrapped up all together with cloth, in little groups, just waiting to be re-discovered and explored like ancient bones buried in the ground.
This incredible collection of history runs the gamut from priceless pre-Columbian pottery, to worthless and gaudy 1920's costume jewelery, gorgeous depression-era beaded clutches, empty French perfume bottles, original paintings, demo tapes from now-famous bands, 200 year old books, a photocopy of my great-grandmother's driving license (as the first woman in California to receive one), trading beads and little bracelets bought by the roadside in Mexico. Her small wonders range from awe-inspiring to ridiculous and I love every single bit of them.
My brother never had much interest in the collection, but to me it was a dream. As a child I would spend hours and hours sitting in her bedroom with all the pieces laid out in front of me. I felt like I was walking through time: I could very literally delve into the past by exploring, touching and discovering all of these artifacts and little lost treasures… and that was something really and truly amazing to me. Every little crack in a marble or dog-eared page from an ancient book was another way to connect with the people that lived and died long before I ever existed.
Her books were some of my favourites. I spent months - maybe even years - looking through her book collection. Some were childhood favourites of hers, like the book, "So Long Ago" which read more as a child's introduction to evolutionary theory with it's incredibly detailed, annotated paintings of triassic scenes; to ancient palmistry books well over a hundred and fifty years old, or original printings of "Dick and Jane". I loved running my hands over the cloth-knit covers and smelling the musty, earthy scent of something so worn and beloved.
Each piece has it's own story, sometimes directly from my mother's life but more often than not they are tales passed down from her mother, her grandmother, and their family before them. Some of these pieces are absolutely ancient, like the gold hoop earrings I wear so frequently that were created by melting down the "family gold" that's been with us for several hundred years. Before my earrings it was my mother's wedding ring, before that a delicate bracelet, and before that they were gold fillings.
I absolutely loved hearing the stories, and I asked my mother to tell them to me over and over again. It didn't even matter if small details changed between the re-tellings, if they were even totally true to begin with or had evolved from family mythology over the generations that had passed them down… all I wanted was to hear and remember. I wanted to pass down the legacy of story-telling when it was my time, too. The art of telling was the most important part. Whether or not I could later fact-check each individual piece really wasn't the point: the mythology is and always will be the best part of having this kind of collection, it's what gives everything its meaning and depth.
So when I find the stones taken from the desert where my grandfather came across a genie in the desert who apparently saved his life, I cherish that as much as the wedding ring that my grandmother died wearing because she couldn't let go of her love for the man who abandoned her.
Some years back I had a vivid and terrible nightmare about my mother dying from a wasting disease. In the dream, I spent the last weeks of her life by her bedside, day and night I catalogued and recorded all of her treasures. We marked each one with numbers or codes and then wrote down all their stories, so that nothing would ever be lost to the void when she finally slipped away… and we'd always remember how much was attached to these things.
Though the nightmare left me shaken for weeks at the thought of losing my mother, it did gift me with the motivation to start dedicating her collection to memory somehow. I talked to her about it later, and together we decided the idea from the nightmare wasn't half-bad: we could start numbering each piece, perhaps with a label maker, or even small tags and string, and track them all in a way that allows me to create a corresponding database of stories, photos and even mythology. Even if we one day decide to part with some of the pieces, at least this way we know which ones have been in the family for generations and which could be sold or auctioned without feeling too much guilt.
We haven't officially started this project quite yet - what with all the fuss of moving and surgeries - but it's our goal to start by the end of this year. The first set will probably be some of the ancient books I have stored here at the house with me. Most of them have been boxed away since before Tempest was born; we've just never had the space nor luxury to unpack everything and go through it for displaying. With this newest move, we finally have that ability, and I've slowly been finding and setting aside the boxes and tubs that contain some of the older things.
I want to share this project online, not only as a permanent record but also because I know I can't be the only one that absolutely loves these kinds of things. There must be others out there like me who feel giddy at the idea of connecting with the past through personal stories, myths and tales passed down through family.
With that in mind, this entry will mark the first installment of this project, for now just titled, "Small Wonders".
But maybe I'll come up with something more clever later on.
One of my favourite caches of old books is nestled away in a pile of encyclopedias and nursing manuals from the turn of the century. My maternal grandmother was an army nurse and spent a lot of time in medical tents when she was younger. Her relationship with her mother, grandmother and the rest of that side of the family, were all absolutely terrible… and leaving home was probably the best and safest thing she could have possibly done when she came of age. In spite of that she desperately wanted to keep a connection to her family's past - largely because she was rather mysteriously cut off from so much of it - and it was because of her that we have most of this collection at all.
She somehow managed to find, and save, the old books from her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. Some of them have little notations in the front, written by her, that remark on who it originally belonged to and what year it would have been used. Others remain unsullied, and contain only the marks from their original owners.
My favourite was always this one:
It's a scripture "question book" for children around the age of 7-10, so I'm told. My family in this era was largely from the deep south and into Texas, USA; it wasn't until my parents moved to Canada (my father with his family at 9, my mother on her own with my infant brother at around 2… which is a whole 'nother fascinating story) that we became Canadian. I was the first (and only, until my baby sister) Canadian-born member of my family.
According to the inside page this printing is from 1853, and originates in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
The opening page has the name "Martha Ellen Nugent" written in a child's hand. Nugent was the maiden name of my great grandmother's family. We have a photo album with family records dating back to the early 1800's, and photos of family from the mid-late 1800's; all of the earliest photos carry the name.
There are a few notations in the margins of the first pages; it is the same script, but a little more even and clear, from a hand not quite as young. The quotes do not appear to have anything to do with the content of the book, which is made up entirely of biblical questions and answers.
The notes on the first pages are these:
The first appears to say, "Love can't choose and love wonder/wander. Love can/can't go where it doesn't show".
The second has been much harder for me to figure out. This is my best guess based on other handwriting samples : "O that long [??] of lord and be what separates my love from me, that's what I dread. (UPDATE: eagle-eyed reader, stess, has provided an accurate reading! It says, "O that long line of land and sea that separates my love from me". Thank you, Stess!)
That last one always made me a bit sad.
If anyone has any better guesses, I'm very open to them. These are rather interesting things to be written in the front of this book.
I looked through this book a hundred times when I was younger, because it always felt like there was something delightfully mysterious about it. It was more than just it being a neat old textbook; it had been very deliberately put aside and saved, then unknowingly passed down until my grandmother came upon it carefully wrapped up in cloths, presumably hidden away into the bottom of an old trunk or box. It was the only schoolbook that was ever saved like this, and considering that no one in the family was religious in such a way that explains valuing a child's scripture book this closely, it always seemed a tad strange. The references to love and loss in the beginning made me think that the book, or the school it came from, had some special significance to Martha that she kept secret.
Adding to the mystery, there are tiny little clippings from papers or magazines that are carefully tucked in-between the pages of the book. Every one of them has to do with love or freedom - while some are a tad more obscure than others, that's definitely the common theme.
Those things alone make this a particularly interesting and kinda mysterious thing to find, but there's more than that: this book has a secret that took over 150 years to find. After all the times I'd looked through this book, all times my mother and even her mother looked through it, no one ever discovered this secret until the day I was showing it to a friend and accidentally dropped it on the ground.
The inside of the back cover looks like this,
Cotton or linen cloth that has been clumsily bound with old, frayed strings. They look far too delicate to touch or pull at, so it never occurred to me to look inside them.
After I dropped the book on the ground, the back cover flipped open and revealed a hidden note tucked beneath the cloth.
The note is carefully folded and amazingly well-preserved; only the edges are slightly frayed. The paper isn't even that discoloured… if it had been found by anyone before me, it certainly hadn't been shared. Once again it is the same script, though it matured significantly from the notes written in the cover pages. This looks more like the hand of a young woman than a girl.
The note it is dated March the 15th, 1865. Not that long before Martha was given in an arranged marriage, as was not that uncommon at the time.
I cannot read the first two words, but the rest is a poem...
"'Lo there
what cheeks
can half so
soft appear
what rose
so lovely be
what dimpled
smiled is half
so dear as
that which
smiles on me.
I love the and will all the days of my life.
But I don't think you love me."
The other side:
"Remember well
and bear in mind
a true friend is
hard to find
but when you
find one good
and true change
not the old
to the new
blue is true
from admired,
to …
true love,
write soon
to …
good bye, love"
The name has been deliberately rubbed away, presumably for as long as the note has been saved.
To say I had chills upon finding and reading this is a colossal understatement.
It doesn't exactly sound like the kind of thing you would write to the man you were betrothed and married to soon after… let alone something you felt needed to be hidden inside the cloth of a childhood book, and carried with you for years disguised as nothing more than a favourite old text. And it makes all of those little references to love that she's hidden throughout the book all the more interesting. I imagine I'll never know the full story, though I wish I could.
This is why I love having all these little treasures; there's often so much more to them than meets the eye.
This incredible collection of history runs the gamut from priceless pre-Columbian pottery, to worthless and gaudy 1920's costume jewelery, gorgeous depression-era beaded clutches, empty French perfume bottles, original paintings, demo tapes from now-famous bands, 200 year old books, a photocopy of my great-grandmother's driving license (as the first woman in California to receive one), trading beads and little bracelets bought by the roadside in Mexico. Her small wonders range from awe-inspiring to ridiculous and I love every single bit of them.
My brother never had much interest in the collection, but to me it was a dream. As a child I would spend hours and hours sitting in her bedroom with all the pieces laid out in front of me. I felt like I was walking through time: I could very literally delve into the past by exploring, touching and discovering all of these artifacts and little lost treasures… and that was something really and truly amazing to me. Every little crack in a marble or dog-eared page from an ancient book was another way to connect with the people that lived and died long before I ever existed.
Her books were some of my favourites. I spent months - maybe even years - looking through her book collection. Some were childhood favourites of hers, like the book, "So Long Ago" which read more as a child's introduction to evolutionary theory with it's incredibly detailed, annotated paintings of triassic scenes; to ancient palmistry books well over a hundred and fifty years old, or original printings of "Dick and Jane". I loved running my hands over the cloth-knit covers and smelling the musty, earthy scent of something so worn and beloved.
Each piece has it's own story, sometimes directly from my mother's life but more often than not they are tales passed down from her mother, her grandmother, and their family before them. Some of these pieces are absolutely ancient, like the gold hoop earrings I wear so frequently that were created by melting down the "family gold" that's been with us for several hundred years. Before my earrings it was my mother's wedding ring, before that a delicate bracelet, and before that they were gold fillings.
I absolutely loved hearing the stories, and I asked my mother to tell them to me over and over again. It didn't even matter if small details changed between the re-tellings, if they were even totally true to begin with or had evolved from family mythology over the generations that had passed them down… all I wanted was to hear and remember. I wanted to pass down the legacy of story-telling when it was my time, too. The art of telling was the most important part. Whether or not I could later fact-check each individual piece really wasn't the point: the mythology is and always will be the best part of having this kind of collection, it's what gives everything its meaning and depth.
So when I find the stones taken from the desert where my grandfather came across a genie in the desert who apparently saved his life, I cherish that as much as the wedding ring that my grandmother died wearing because she couldn't let go of her love for the man who abandoned her.
Some years back I had a vivid and terrible nightmare about my mother dying from a wasting disease. In the dream, I spent the last weeks of her life by her bedside, day and night I catalogued and recorded all of her treasures. We marked each one with numbers or codes and then wrote down all their stories, so that nothing would ever be lost to the void when she finally slipped away… and we'd always remember how much was attached to these things.
Though the nightmare left me shaken for weeks at the thought of losing my mother, it did gift me with the motivation to start dedicating her collection to memory somehow. I talked to her about it later, and together we decided the idea from the nightmare wasn't half-bad: we could start numbering each piece, perhaps with a label maker, or even small tags and string, and track them all in a way that allows me to create a corresponding database of stories, photos and even mythology. Even if we one day decide to part with some of the pieces, at least this way we know which ones have been in the family for generations and which could be sold or auctioned without feeling too much guilt.
We haven't officially started this project quite yet - what with all the fuss of moving and surgeries - but it's our goal to start by the end of this year. The first set will probably be some of the ancient books I have stored here at the house with me. Most of them have been boxed away since before Tempest was born; we've just never had the space nor luxury to unpack everything and go through it for displaying. With this newest move, we finally have that ability, and I've slowly been finding and setting aside the boxes and tubs that contain some of the older things.
I want to share this project online, not only as a permanent record but also because I know I can't be the only one that absolutely loves these kinds of things. There must be others out there like me who feel giddy at the idea of connecting with the past through personal stories, myths and tales passed down through family.
With that in mind, this entry will mark the first installment of this project, for now just titled, "Small Wonders".
But maybe I'll come up with something more clever later on.
One of my favourite caches of old books is nestled away in a pile of encyclopedias and nursing manuals from the turn of the century. My maternal grandmother was an army nurse and spent a lot of time in medical tents when she was younger. Her relationship with her mother, grandmother and the rest of that side of the family, were all absolutely terrible… and leaving home was probably the best and safest thing she could have possibly done when she came of age. In spite of that she desperately wanted to keep a connection to her family's past - largely because she was rather mysteriously cut off from so much of it - and it was because of her that we have most of this collection at all.
She somehow managed to find, and save, the old books from her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. Some of them have little notations in the front, written by her, that remark on who it originally belonged to and what year it would have been used. Others remain unsullied, and contain only the marks from their original owners.
My favourite was always this one:
It's a scripture "question book" for children around the age of 7-10, so I'm told. My family in this era was largely from the deep south and into Texas, USA; it wasn't until my parents moved to Canada (my father with his family at 9, my mother on her own with my infant brother at around 2… which is a whole 'nother fascinating story) that we became Canadian. I was the first (and only, until my baby sister) Canadian-born member of my family.
According to the inside page this printing is from 1853, and originates in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
The opening page has the name "Martha Ellen Nugent" written in a child's hand. Nugent was the maiden name of my great grandmother's family. We have a photo album with family records dating back to the early 1800's, and photos of family from the mid-late 1800's; all of the earliest photos carry the name.
There are a few notations in the margins of the first pages; it is the same script, but a little more even and clear, from a hand not quite as young. The quotes do not appear to have anything to do with the content of the book, which is made up entirely of biblical questions and answers.
The notes on the first pages are these:
The first appears to say, "Love can't choose and love wonder/wander. Love can/can't go where it doesn't show".
The second has been much harder for me to figure out. This is my best guess based on other handwriting samples : "O that long [??] of lord and be what separates my love from me, that's what I dread. (UPDATE: eagle-eyed reader, stess, has provided an accurate reading! It says, "O that long line of land and sea that separates my love from me". Thank you, Stess!)
That last one always made me a bit sad.
If anyone has any better guesses, I'm very open to them. These are rather interesting things to be written in the front of this book.
I looked through this book a hundred times when I was younger, because it always felt like there was something delightfully mysterious about it. It was more than just it being a neat old textbook; it had been very deliberately put aside and saved, then unknowingly passed down until my grandmother came upon it carefully wrapped up in cloths, presumably hidden away into the bottom of an old trunk or box. It was the only schoolbook that was ever saved like this, and considering that no one in the family was religious in such a way that explains valuing a child's scripture book this closely, it always seemed a tad strange. The references to love and loss in the beginning made me think that the book, or the school it came from, had some special significance to Martha that she kept secret.
Adding to the mystery, there are tiny little clippings from papers or magazines that are carefully tucked in-between the pages of the book. Every one of them has to do with love or freedom - while some are a tad more obscure than others, that's definitely the common theme.
Those things alone make this a particularly interesting and kinda mysterious thing to find, but there's more than that: this book has a secret that took over 150 years to find. After all the times I'd looked through this book, all times my mother and even her mother looked through it, no one ever discovered this secret until the day I was showing it to a friend and accidentally dropped it on the ground.
The inside of the back cover looks like this,
Cotton or linen cloth that has been clumsily bound with old, frayed strings. They look far too delicate to touch or pull at, so it never occurred to me to look inside them.
After I dropped the book on the ground, the back cover flipped open and revealed a hidden note tucked beneath the cloth.
The note is carefully folded and amazingly well-preserved; only the edges are slightly frayed. The paper isn't even that discoloured… if it had been found by anyone before me, it certainly hadn't been shared. Once again it is the same script, though it matured significantly from the notes written in the cover pages. This looks more like the hand of a young woman than a girl.
The note it is dated March the 15th, 1865. Not that long before Martha was given in an arranged marriage, as was not that uncommon at the time.
I cannot read the first two words, but the rest is a poem...
"'Lo there
what cheeks
can half so
soft appear
what rose
so lovely be
what dimpled
smiled is half
so dear as
that which
smiles on me.
I love the and will all the days of my life.
But I don't think you love me."
The other side:
"Remember well
and bear in mind
a true friend is
hard to find
but when you
find one good
and true change
not the old
to the new
blue is true
from admired,
to …
true love,
write soon
to …
good bye, love"
The name has been deliberately rubbed away, presumably for as long as the note has been saved.
To say I had chills upon finding and reading this is a colossal understatement.
It doesn't exactly sound like the kind of thing you would write to the man you were betrothed and married to soon after… let alone something you felt needed to be hidden inside the cloth of a childhood book, and carried with you for years disguised as nothing more than a favourite old text. And it makes all of those little references to love that she's hidden throughout the book all the more interesting. I imagine I'll never know the full story, though I wish I could.
This is why I love having all these little treasures; there's often so much more to them than meets the eye.