This one is hard.
I have a lot of stuff, but I’m not a stuff person.
Really. In fact, I’m so much NOT a stuff person that I really don’t even take good care of my stuff. I tend to leave things out until there’s enough stuff around that it drives me nuts and I walk around like a crazy mom saying, “why don’t you people ever put any of this stuff UP?”
Then I realize that a very fair percentage of it is my own. Sigh.
I’m not going to cheat and put up a picture of people. People are not items. Technically, I guess my brain is an item and do so treasure my ability to think and learn and remember and — well — be ALIVE, but I don’t think that would be playing quite fair either.
So here it is:
Yep. My worn out, very out-of-date collection of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie Series. I loved reading these books as a child. I think I read them every summer, and had serious issues with wanting to be Ma Ingalls. (I got over that.) When my children were old enough to read them, I bought another set because I didn’t want these to get messed up. Some day, I want a hardback set, but this one will still be a treasure to me.
They’re important because they’re the first gift I can ever remember getting specifically from my dad as a “good for you!” reward. When I was in sixth grade, I placed second in the first ever White County Spelling Bee. White County was just getting ready to begin official Scripps-Howard bees and to prepare, they hosted their own bees for two years. I was in both of them and came in second both times. That first year, my dad was able to work his schedule out to come and watch the finals. My brother was there too. I remember seeing them in the audience, mouthing, “SLOW DOWN!” because I’m a very speedy, instinctual speller.
I don’t think Daddy even asked me what I wanted. He knew me well enough to know that I really wanted that set of books. He was proud of me and he wanted to give me something as a reward for my work.
30 years later, it still rewards me.