For the sake of discussion, let's compare curtains to a body—your body or my body.
Life's like a pair of well-loved curtains.
A bolt of dark brown, rich velvet caught the eye of the seamstress looking for full luxurious curtains to span a large window for her client. The couple agreed with her choice and gave consent for her to go ahead. Once finished, the machinist folded the heavy, lined fabric with care, pleased with her effort.
The new owners installed the curtains on a brass rod secured with brass rings holding the deep heading pleats and stepped back to admire their purchase. The raised pile caught the light with a gentle sheen. Every year, they took the curtains down and sent them away to be cleaned.
Can you imagine my excitement and relief to welcome a pair of full-length curtains into my home? My husband and I had just moved in and needed to cover the 7 ft high glass leading out to our fifth floor balcony. The curtains fitted so well, and I couldn't thank the generous couple enough for their help. During the room's redecorating, a smudge appeared on a section of the cloth, but the curtains were so full, the blemish hardly showed. When they needed cleaning, I'd hoped it would vanish, but no such luck. After two years, we were lucky enough to receive an offer for another home, this time on the ground floor in a country aspect. I couldn't wait to move to a place that fulfilled my dreams, surrounded by fields with horses roaming. After my husband papered the walls, we packed everything and moved in.
Last week when the decorator left, I discovered the velvet wet and rippled in the center of one of the curtains. He'd squeezed the material into the tiny upper window to get it out of the way. I didn't take them down because of my disability. It was raining outside. I could have cried, mourning for my cherished curtains which we'd owned for over eighteen years. But, now forty years old, they endured. When dry, the pile hardly showed the tiny waves that had been visible before. I prop them back behind urns on either side of the window ledge, showing off the elegant drape of the fabric and matching with the overall scheme.
I relate my own body to that of a pair of well-loved curtains, shifted about, bruised with passing fads, but enduring and strong.
Just as a new item of furniture can never compare to the patina of an antique, wear and care can never be faked. My body shows the life I've lived, my expression reflects my attitude to life. I match my surroundings, faded lustre reflecting my experience. I am me. A tribute to #MeDay.
Do you have a cherished item?