The little book in the antique shop grabbed me.
Picking it up and turning carefully through it’s pages, I fell in love…
…not just with the book itself, but the meaning and history behind it.
The carrying around of a book to capture—in an instant—the hand of a friend. The thoughts of a loved one. A moment in time, never to be repeated…
The plea of a girl to those she would, through the years, hand the little book to:
“To my Friends
I ask not gold, clear red like flame
Or Jewels, or lace or velvet fine
I only ask a thought, a name
A verse or loving line.
So shall I gain, yet you confess,
Your riches have grown more the less.
Elva”
From 1889 to 1897, the writing—the hand—of friends and family was captured by Elva on pages now colored by time…
Bits of beautiful, old German scrap graces some of the pages…
…did you notice the forget-me-nots in these sweet images? So did I.
Just a few of it’s pages shared with you today…a by-gone tradition to be savored in a day when it seems we barely share our handwriting with others any more…
…a few strokes of the keys on computer or cell phone…messages of love left, of course-- but a lack of that personal touch, I think…our hand………
A reminder to leave more behind me than cyber messages on digital pages. Something tangible. Something me. Something touched by my hand…