Tiny boxes full. Shoe boxes full. Oddly offering envelopes full.
Offering envelopes were more intriguing than Sunday School class. There were always some envelopes left over from the box we got each year for playing post office. My mom tried to get us to Sunday School. She really did. Usually she worried that she might have left the iron or the coffee pot or the oven on.
Dad kept pennies in a small metal orange juice can decorated with crayon art. We took as many pennies as we were old. Dad let us decide which side of the envelopes to place the pennies. Ever the engineer, he said the local side kept the church from falling down. Not one to evangelize, Dad was vague explaining the mission side.
Dad's aunt used offering envelopes from 1936 for her stamp sorting.
The steamer trunk is packed with tiny collections of stamps in prescription boxes, thread boxes, and envelopes. Like an archaeologist sifting through layers of dust I know the site has been previously disturbed. Tomb raiders have tossed "worthless" contents into gullies. Detritus of other generations has been packed into cavities.
Strings and strings of postage stamps.
In dreams I sew the stamps into strands and webs at the treadle machine.
Photos of completed projects and works in progress © 2013 Nancy L. Ruder with all rights reserved.