Thursday, July 28, 2011
Gift from my sister: bronze purse locket from her trip to Paris.
Another charming little gift: Daisy solid perfume and locket by Marc Jacobs. It's hard to describe scents, but I'll happily agree with the description of the violet fragrance as capturing an "eclectic, vintage flavor.")
I love the times when I'm not rushing and going and doing or trying and fighting and searching. I love the times when I can acknowledge and appreciate the fact that it's the little things in life that matter: a touch of the hand, a knowing look, a handmade card, a piece of chocolate on the pillow at night, a cup of tea in the morning, a kiss on the cheek, a squeeze of the arm. These are the things that I enjoy and remember most. More than big gestures or grand parties or huge vacations.
Of course in the literal sense, it really is "the little things" that matter. My little ones are everything and the world to me. They are small packages of joy and wonder. They are life itself, brimming with love and meaning and purpose.
But in another literal sense, I simply love little things. Small packages delight me in the same way that they have since I was--well, little. Shiny stickers, lost teeth, coin purses, tiny trinkets, charms, feathers, and marbles--wrap these up and they become instant treasures, ready to be stored away in a collection of their own. So when I recently received two small packages from my dear sister Lila--one containing an antique locket in the form of a tiny bronze purse, and the other containing an actual tiny purse which held its own locket necklace (filled with MJ's Daisy perfume, no less!), I got that heady rush of exuberance that comes with the firm belief that an entire universe of loveliness can be stored in the littlest, most unassuming objects. Either that or this perfume is really working its magic.
Maybe I'm stuck in my childhood, unable to see the big picture and obsessing over the little things--maybe everyone is and does to some extent. It's no wonder why I like to steep myself in children's books--where it's the Charlottes and Despereauxs, the Very Hungry Caterpillars and the Poky Little Puppies who comfort and captivate and shine. Adults can seem so strange, intimidating, all-powerful, and just plain wrong sometimes. Even at my full, overgrown adult size, when I'm not busy being a strange, messed-up, all-wrong adult, I love to just admire and take in the little things.