The Little Things

“It’s the little things”, we often hear in life. I know this to be true as I am always surprised when my daughter mentions a favorite memory from childhood which were mostly ordinary days when nothing much happened. She can’t recall the Nutcracker ballet I took her to in the city one Christmas when she was five but she well-remembers the waffle breakfasts I prepared for her before church every Sunday morning. Little things…

Recently I read The Scent of Water by Elizabeth Goudge. I discovered soon enough that the scent of water represents hope and renewal but I was more captivated by the precious tiny items, known as The Little Things that were mentioned throughout the novel. These were composed of a miniature horse and buggy, minute cottages, a white horse and a figurine of the queen of the fairies, Mab, who bought dreams to children at night (per lore and legend.)  In the book, all these small items and more were kept in the parlor underneath a large glass dome and where shown only to worthy guests. But once seen, The Little Things were never forgotten.

There was much I didn’t understand in The Scent of Water, a novel thick with shadowy symbolism and religious themes. But I did get The Little Things, because I’ve always been attracted to small precious items. Having a dollhouse when I was young set my imagination as it was filled with remarkably authentic-looking petite chairs and tables. My passion for small objects began in that dollhouse. Also, my grandmother’s home had many tiny things that were irresistible to my small fingers. I’m remembering a sterling silver thimble, a diminutive carved chest of drawers filled with buttons, a small brass turtle in whose shell hid a secret hiding spot. There were also assorted pieces of tiny crockery such as watering cans and teapots. Most of these items were set on windowsills and almost none were off-limits as my grandmother knew the role these things played in keeping us busy and happy.

Later in life, my mother and I shared a love of tiny things when we visited a fair where a charming artist was selling small china tea sets which she hand painted. We both went home that day with miniature sets and on my next birthday, my mother gifted me with a wee floral pitcher that bore the teeniest glass flowers in muted rainbow hues. It’s still lovely to my eyes…

I’ve gathered a small collection of Little Things through the years and after I read The Scent of Water, I found a nice glass cloche to house them under. Just because they are now kept this way does not mean my little granddaughter can’t touch or play with them. In fact I encourage it. She loves setting up parties with the tea sets and I even let her pour “water tea” into the small cups. She also hides tiny things under the turtle’s shell as I did. Some small Limoges boxes I inherited from my mother have also created scope for inspiration as they serve as seating at her “tea table”. It’s a joy to watch my granddaughter amuse herself with these treasures.

And back to rapturous ordinary days. I hope my granddaughter remembers the hours she spent at my house, gladdening herself with my little things, making up stories and scenes in her imagination, touching bright objects that helped her dreams take flight.