A tiny map of southern Maine where my husband grew up, and where his mother, and someday, we, may retire. I decoupaged it to a small canvas and plan to hang four of them - different places in the world that have meaning to us - somewhere in our new house.
A block. The Letter I. Iguana. Ink. Ink is a fluid that I believe must mingle in my life's blood along with the black coffee.
A clothespin doll. One of the first Christmas ornament/playthings I ever made with Annabel.
An elephant. For some symbolizes luck, dilligence, strength, memory and wisdom. It usually watches Annabel as she sleeps
A double-decker "matchbox" bus my dad bought me when I was a wee squirt. Silas loves it; the doors still open and the bell still works. We have both dropped it on our toes. Silas' was unharmed. The nail on mine turned black as I recall.
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