I am writing this post today in response to a post I read yesterday.

It was a post written by Stuart Perkins, and you can read it here; 1. magic marker

Anyway, it reminded me of a few things.

Like when I grew up, the best gift I could have received, was something to write or color with.

I don’t remember markers; maybe they were too expensive, or maybe they were too PERMANENT!

It could be ink pens, new pencils, or crayons; but in my mind, nothing but nothing could beat the smell of a new box of crayons.

Mom had her own box, and it was forbidden for us to use HER crayons or her ONE coloring book.

It had a bride and a groom on the front.

She had a way of rolling her crayons as she colored that kept them sharp; not flat or broken like ours.

It also made them far more appealing to use than my own.

The second best thing I could receive was that yellow, smooth, wide ruled paper from the school, or what we called back then “manila paper”.

It was art paper and was very coarse, but a delight to draw on.

Thanks to Stuart, these memories came flooding back, with a few more in tow.

My love for writing utensils and paper was passed along to my daughters and as it turns out, my granddaughters as well.

They are always drawing, writing, or coloring, somewhere.

This brings me to my story.

When daughter number one was moving to a new home, it came time to move the kitchen table.

She turned it over to remove the legs, and to her surprise; there were crayon, pencil, pen and yes, marker letters and art covering the bottom of the table!

Instead of anger, she felt endeared that her offspring had felt that was a safe place to leave their art work.

Cleaning it off was never even an idea, because it was like finding buried treasure.

Then a few years later, when daughter number two was moving, to a new home, it came time to move the kitchen table.

To her great surprise, she found the same thing!

There were crayon, pencil, and pen and yes, marker letters and art covering the bottom of her kitchen table also!

Being a lover of writing and art and markers, she thought of it like a time capsule, documenting their innocence and imagination.

What stressed her out was the fact that the SAME GREEN MARKER used on the bottom of her table, was found all the way around the kitchen and down the hall!

Well that was long ago.

The children were very young then; two, three, four, five.

That has turned into thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen.

Neither mom has any intent of trading in their tables for new ones.

A bit like archaeology; once uncovered, never forgotten.

“Sacred History” I’d call it.

It warms my heart that neither daughter has any thought of getting rid of those tables; those archives.

Like many things, they will be passed on to the children, as documentation of moments gone by.

I never did check the bottom of my table for treasure – but then I haven’t moved in ages!

Perhaps you should consider checking yours?

Just like in Stuart’s story, it could become a very important part of your very own “Sacred History”.

Do you have any stories like this to share?

Please take a moment to do so in the comments.

——- * Ages may be off – math is hard ——-

See you next time!