treasureDuring this last trip back to the farm in West Virginia, Dad let me gather up old photos and letters so I can preserve them. A wooden box probably isn’t the best container!

I’ve sifted through them and am really looking forward to putting everything into some semblance of order. Items from Dad’s baby pictures to Grandma and Grandpa’s marriage certificate. Letters from WWII and ration stamps. A story idea treasure trove . . .

In addition to the printed materials, I gathered a few other treasures. Now, the funny thing is, there probably isn’t anyone else who would want this stuff. A pair of bookends I remember from the shelf in the family room. An elephant-shaped bottle opener Dad gifted Grandma Nellie with one Mother’s Day. The butter mold my Great-Uncle Willis made for Mom. A salt-box that used to hold recipes.

It wouldn’t amount to much on eBay.

But to me, these items are beyond priceless. I already have the butterfly rug my great-aunt made. When we came in the house as children our shoes went immediately onto the little rug. And the bookcase that sat at the end of the hallway. Not to mention several of my great-grandmother’s quilts.

If there were a fire, this stuff would be right behind my laptop on my rescue list.

How could I assign a value to or replace something the grandmother I never met once held in her hand? I can’t. But I can hold it in my hand and feel as though we are–almost–touching.

Priceless, indeed.