Little Miss Memory Lane always loved a story. Hearing them, telling them, discovering them. It’s what she loved to do.
She didn’t care that much about stuff. Well, that’s not true. She LOVED stuff. She collected stuff. She had a house FULL of stuff. But it wasn’t always the big-ticket items that she gravitated to. Don’t misunderstand, she adored it all, but she did love the quieter items, the ones that hid in the shadows, the ones that didn’t scream “look at me!”.
Little Miss Memory Lane loved items that told a story. And they weren’t always valuable, not in the monetary sense. She valued them for the fact that they could tell you about someone, about a time, a place. Maybe a journey, a romance, drama and devastation.
They had secrets.
To Little Miss Memory Lane, life was what it was. She truly believed that in the ordinary there was extraordinary, in the everyday there was the unsuspecting and in the simple there was a stunning elegance. She sought to find the treasure amongst the trash and wanted to know why the thorn was among the roses.
She was constantly looking, to see what no one else could see. To find the story. To be reminded of days of stunning beauty and exquisite tragedy. To tell the tales of everyday, and in her stories every item was a character.