Nostalgia and Thanksgiving

This post is not so much about the apples that my son and I dried. We cut them up and I did make a mixture of water and Fruit Fresh to soak them in....but....somehow, they ended up turning slightly brown anyway. I do love to dry apples in the fall. I know some people put them in something sugary or sprinkle them with cinnamon, but I just love them all natural! When my kids come home from school and dip in to these to grab a handful for a healthy snack, it makes me smile.
On to why this post is not about the apples even though you may be wondering about that now that I wrote a paragraph about drying apples. Oh, one more thing I do have to mention here before getting to what this post is really about. When I was in my early twenties, I lived close to an old man. I cannot, for the life of me remember his name. He was kind enough to give me an old Excalibur Mills dehydrator. It is so nice and so large and still works perfectly! I am forever indebted to him for his kindness.
Now....on to what this post is really about....My roots are in Bear Lake Valley. I have a million relatives there. My Aunt (probably great, great Aunt) Ida lived there in the 19th century. She had these very jars in her home. When I was younger, my grandmother let me go into her home and choose something to keep. I chose two porcelain cats. I loved cats as a kid. My sister now has these cats in her home. Then another time as an adult, Grandma, once again allowed me to go inside Ida's home and take these jars home with me. I LOVE these nostalgic jars and how old they are. I am impressed with times past and how things were made with such care and so well. I have run these jars through the dishwasher and they have held up so well. In fact, they do a pretty nice job now of making reproductions that almost look like the real deal. Someone who did not know the history behind these jars may just take them for one such reproduction. But every time I look at them in my kitchen or I fill them with something, I am taken back to days long ago. I have a passion for things that have that kind of influence on me. Some may question me in why I even use something this old. I do believe in using things and now and then, yes the unthinkable does happen and something old gets broken. Whenever that happens (even though I feel as though part of me has been shattered), I try to smile and tell the guilty child that they are far more valuable than the ruined item. I guess if I just put them up high or in some hidden place to preserve them forever that I feel I would miss out on the memories that are induced by using them daily. I feel it makes me so much more grateful for what I have.