SHELVES MAKE ROOM FOR WHAT FAMILIES HOLD DEAR

I don't know when I first became enamored with shelves. Perhaps it was the two fireplace mantels in the old farm home. On the kitchen mantel-shelf was the kerosene lamp, a box of matches, assorted medicines things out of the reach of children.

On the living room fireplace mantel was the wonderful, old ornate clock that struck the hours, marking the passing of time that meant nothing at all to me then. Also, there were two little hand painted vases, pansies and roses being the designs.

Then, Grandpa and Dad built a wide shelf in the smoke house upon which to lay the hams and shoulders while they were "taking" salt. Handy and utilitarian thing it was, leaving room underneath for bushels of hulled walnuts, butternuts and hickory nuts.

In the blacksmith shop there was a shelf for Dad's better tools, which we were strictly not to play with, or else. Thus I began to stand a little in awe of things on a shelf.

I gradually came to realize that shelves were great space savers, replacing tables and saving floor and wall space.

I believe, though, that my earnest delight with shelves originated from the pictures that accompanied early story books. In a series of "Twin" books "Japanese Twins," "Dutch Twins," "French Twins," etc. there was often a picture of a neat little wall shelf, supported by pretty brackets and often a ruffle around the shelf. These shelves, too, always held a lamp, a cookie jar, a vase of flowers and other things supposedly dear to the family. They all gave such a homey touch to a room.

I don't see any such shelves in Architectural Digest or other elite home design and furniture magazines, unless they are handsome built-in bookshelves. But all the "country" magazines are replete with them. Are they a societal class status symbol? If so, count me country. I have one or more shelves in every room. Some have ruffles around them. Some have fancy brackets, three hold third generation clocks. They all save badly needed floor space and hold precious little mementos that may seem odd to others but about which I could tell a fairly long story, albeit perhaps boring to listeners.

In a children's book I even had a shelf in Mrs. Raccoon's home, high up in the white oak tree. The shelf was a bit of fungus that protruded form the inside wall of a hollowed out space the raccoons called home. I was a bit disappointed when the illustrator for the book didn't include that shelf.

Celestial Tea Company markets herbal teas and packages them beautifully. I don't particularly like the one called Sleepytime Tea any better than the others, but I find myself buying it more often on account of the picture of the bear family home. It has the dearest little shelf that holds bear things and lends an atmosphere of order and contentment and, in my eyes at least, family values. Is that a far stretch? I think not. What families put on shelves speak of what they consider to be pretty or useful or valuable.

When the expression is used, "Let's shelve it," it means to put it aside and forget about it. When I "shelve" anything Precious Moments figurines, porceline birds or butterflies, a china rose, etc. it is not to forget anything but to keep it there before me, as timeless for me as the old clock reporting the passing of the hours.

I even have little self-visualized shelves in my brain. On the main one are pictures of remembered moments a winter sunset, a tiger swallowtail butterfly sipping nectar from the phlox, sheep in a green spring pasture, Simplicity rosebud, cardinal in flight, etc.

On a shelf near the Exit door of my brain are less lovable things. I hate to even name them. I don't choose to put them on my mental shelf, but since they are here to be confronted in our daily living, they of necessity take up mental space. Occasionally I, with the help of society, get to boot them off the shelf and out the Exit door. It's a rickety, shabby thing, this shelf, one that a family wouldn't hold dear.

REJOICE!