A Little MS with a Little MSW

I love me a good antiques store. If you aren’t one to frequent Memory Lane or were absent when God was dousing us with Nostalgia, then it probably isn’t your thing. But for you drug users out there, each aisle is like snorting a line of the past. The smell of dust mixed with knick-knacks of yesterday should be bottled and sold as the signature scent for the sentimental.

I equate childhood with comfort and safety, so infiltrating my senses with past memories is like being wrapped in a warm blanket and handed a mug of hot cocoa. On one aisle, I see a cookbook, and I am in my grandma’s kitchen. On the next, a toy, and I am surrounded by childhood friends. A piece of artwork takes me inside the walls of another time and place, and a book to a place that once provided a much-needed escape.

Antiques stores can walk alongside us as we question the meaning of life. They can allow us to revisit the meaningful people, places, and things we’ve experienced along the way. It’s like window shopping for sparks of joy when the path we are on grows dark. The best part is, we don’t have to live there, in the past. We can visit for a spell and allow the scent of sentimentality and the warmth of past encounters to illuminate our path forward.