There’s something special about little picture frames.
I used to have wallet-sized hospital pictures of my babies in tiny silver frames in my bedroom. They weren’t real silver, they were Kmart’s version of silver, but they made me really happy when I caught sight of them.
The frames aren’t there anymore because my then 4th grade daughter took hers to school for a classroom project.
That’s not really an excuse, by the way. My daughter’s about to graduate college so I’ve had more than enough time to replace the frame. I should really do that.
Right now I have a couple of little picture frames in my dining room and living room.
I bought them a number of years ago on a garage sale outing, and I can still remember the neighborhood and almost the exact houses that I bought them at.
It’s a sickness really, this total thrift recall syndrome. As I drive around town I think “I’ve been in that house and that house and that house. And, oh yeah, one time I bought a $1 wreath hanger at that house.”
But I really do love these two little frames.
They don’t have pictures in them. They have two of my other favorite things in them.
The one in the dining room has words in it. A definition actually.
And the one in the living room has a tiny section of map in it.
Words and maps. Can’t get enough of either. Or little thrifted frames.