There are teeny tiny sand dollars on my windowsill. I have three of them. For a long time I only had one, because finding whole baby sand dollars is akin to finding a $20 on the sidewalk. I think money from nature is genius.
Dramatic money also fascinates me. That’s why there’s a Cuban peso on my windowsill. “Patria o muerte” translates to “The fatherland or die.”
It’s joined by a few coins from our recent trip to Morocco where the face of the King of Morocco has been totally rubbed off. It reminds me just how hard the Moroccans work for their living.
Lord Humungous is there as well. It seemed a fitting place, the kitchen, for the Lord.
There are lots of little bottles that have been unearthed from the yard, some whole and some in pieces. They remind me that gorgeous treasures come from the most unexpected places, and I love the reminder of how corn syrup has gone from a freaky special thing offered in a thimble-sized glass to being sold by the gallon.
I have a soft spot in my heart for dead things of the natural kind. Perhaps it’s because nature can be beautiful even in death. I stick cool-looking dead things in the bottles from the yard.
There’s a red-tailed hawk feather. And a shriveled chicken wishbone. A random piece of plastic that belongs to something important, I’m sure. The bell I used to wear on my ski jacket as a child is there. As is a tiny picture of Hans sitting in a pumpkin patch the day after I was diagnosed. A reminder of how far we both have come.
What’s on your kitchen windowsill?