As I get older I find myself becoming surprisingly sentimental.

I was never like this growing up, I suppose there are few kids who are, but I was almost anti-sentimental.  I kept nothing from my childhood or teenage years.  No favourite doll or diary or cherished childhood book.

When my husband and I first bought our home, my only desire was to fill it up and make it look pretty.  I filled it as quickly as possible with a lot of stuff from Walmart and other random crap on sale or from yard sales.  It looks cute and put together, but most of the stuff has no meaning.

Joe has been working crazy hours this past month, leaving before I get up and coming home long after I am asleep.  As I wander my home alone at night, I cannot help but look at all my possessions and see the memories and meanings.  My home is where I spend 99% of my time and it is a complete refection of me and my family. While I cook, I read the sayings written on my huge wooden rolling pin set above my stove. My friend Jessica had brought it, along with colourful markers, to our wedding and had all of our guests sign it. At first I thought, “Nice, but I will never display this in my home”… now it sits prominently in my kitchen and makes me smile while I cook and read the well wishes over and over.  The armiore in my bedroom, which has been painted a crisp white, was my mothers and it sat in her mudroom holding all our coats and shoes when I was a child. It is a total piece of crap with a flipout bottom that falls on our toes, but I love it just the same and will probably never replace it.  The little bench in our bedroom, that I stub my toes on daily, has no purpose and takes up too much room in our little bedroom… but it was my husbands great grandmothers…who I never even met…but it somehow makes our room just that much more special.

I have countless new things, but it is the old things I find myself loving. The junk I found at a yard sale and that I loving restored is more cherished then any new, expensive piece I own. Am I heading down a path towards those crazy garbage picking hoarders who think all their “crap” is special treasures? God, I hope not.

Needless to say, since my home is super full, I have set my sights a little smaller this past week.  I bought a few old broaches and turned them into necklaces. These pieces of vintage jewellery are my new favourites, not because they are prettier then all my others, but because I made them…. I’m so old aren’t I? My ideal weekend would be going to yard sales on Saturday and fixin’ up my treasures Sunday….. what happened to me?

I guess my point is…well, I have no idea what my freakin’ point is.  Just that I am changing in my old age. Moving from that person who wants her home to be magazine perfect to someone who wants her home filled with treasures with meaning and memories….hopefully I can stop before my home looks like a flea market tag sale.  I suggest finding your own trash that you can make a treasure. Perhaps an old dresser that needs a coat of black paint and new hardware or your grandmothers ceramic collection spray painted a bright modern white and displayed in your home. Or you could start small, hang a vintage broach on a necklace for a new pretty piece of jewellery!

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