Have you ever had a collection or treasure; something that was not sumptuous in value but had a very sentimental meaning? Well when I was little I used to love collections. I thought they were the coolest things ever. I had many collections, but today I will just tell you about my favorite three.
One of my favorite collections were beads. I loved how you could basically make any accessory you wanted to with them. I had a small musical box full of them. I put beads into the wooden box whenever one of my bracelets or necklaces broke. With those beads I could make another bracelet and replace it. I loved how each bead was unique. I never actually made any bracelets with these unique beads; so my box is still full of them!
Another one of my collections were snow globes. My mom got me many from gift shops in special places or different states that we visited. My snow globes are arranged from biggest to smallest on my dresser. Many of my snow globes have intricately designed pedestals that tie into the miniature theme of the globe. They also played calming melodies when you twist a little knob underneath it.
My most colorful collection was octopi. They were made with beads and melted to perfection with an ironer. Well actually, I wouldn’t say “to perfection”. Many of them, although pretty, were demented. Some of the legs have fallen off and have been glued and ironed back to the octopus in the wrong direction. Actually, I think that’s why I like them even more. They are special to me and every time I look at them hanging on my mirror; I remember the sentimental story behind it.
These are things that many people wouldn’t care for, but to me they mean a lot. These are my collections!
P.S: Found it in my computer, an article by Rachel written for school this year. Thought I'll save it by posting it on the blog...
It is lunch time now; but my mind keeps going back to this morning.
I was busy reading my book (Open by Agassi). Suddenly I hear this voice, "I want to sit". She is a lady. Neatly dressed in a hospital attire, may be a nurse or attendant or janitor I can't tell. African American. About fifty years young.
Being Friday there are plenty of empty seats in the train; but she seems lost and repeats, "I want to sit". A good soul across from me braves to help her, "Here", she says pointing to the seat next to her, "You can sit here". She takes the offered seat thanking her.
She starts a conversation, "I am tired you know. Kind of giddy. I worked all night!" The good soul acknowledges her with her "mhm"s and "ahang"s.
Then suddenly she asks, as if waking up from her sleep, "What time is it anyway? Is it morning or evening?"
"Morning! Almost nine!", comes the response.Good soul gets down in the next station.
As the train starts to move she is getting panicked, "Is this train going Uptown or Downtown?"
Someone answers, "Downtown"
Moments later she asks, "Which station is this?" I answer, "14th Street". She asks me to repeat. "14th Street!" She thanks me.
And then suddenly she starts to cry. It is audible in spite of the noise of the train. I take a side way glance at her. She is searching frantically in her bag, tears rolling down, crying - audibly.
"What is it? Are you okay? You lost something? Are you lost?" I think of different ways I could reach out to her; but I remain silent like the rest of the New Yorkers.
The train comes to a halt. It's my stop. 8th Street. I get down. Walk away.