Stories Old and New

I went to the flea market this weekend and, as always, lost track of time there. Old handwritten letters, sheet music, and a story came home with me.

The sheet music might make nice cards or holiday decorations. And I find the handwriting on the letters as beautiful to look at as a pretty painting. The words hold so much history. One letter was written in 1940 by a woman whose home had been occupied by soldiers and her silver stolen.


As for the story that accompanied me home, well here it is: years ago at this same flea market I bought a painting that depicted Paris rooftops in shades of gray and white. After bringing it home my husband and I could never find the right spot to hang it, and since our apartment is small and has little storage space, we finally sold it with some regret to a second-hand store a month ago.

Unbelievably, as I arrived at the flea market this weekend the painting, the very same one, reappeared right in front of me, for sale by one of the vendors (a different one from the vendor who sold it to me)! I didn't ask for the price and who knows where it's off to next -- when I passed by a second time it had been sold, hopefully to someone with just the right wall space waiting for it.