This month, a few folks at Points North Magazine fell in love with the thought of heirlooms. On page 86 of their February issue, Editor Heather KW Brown talks about a 1950s couch from her grandmother's house that she reupholstered, Shannah Smith mentioned an old hall tree, and Tiffany Willard revealed that she has her grandfather's old wicker rocking chair, though the runners are worn and flattened out now. They invited readers to share an heirloom or two on Twitter using the hashtag #PNAfterThoughts.  I'm surrounded by heirlooms and keepsakes. Every day, they sing memories to me. I chose two items in my office to share with my friends at Points North using their hashtag.

An mission-style oak dictionary stand supports a rather hefty, vintage Webster's dictionary in the corner of my office. It was my mother-in-law's. She loved words and was a voracious reader, so the dictionary and stand are perfect reminders of her. 

She taught English composition to college freshmen for years at the University of Tennessee in Chattanooga. When I close my eyes, I can still see her curled up on the end of her sofa reading poorly-constructed essays. She'd occasionally glance up at the television to see what the Braves' score was before returning to her task of grading papers. She shook her head back and forth in disgust, then broke out the red pen.

Margaret and I shared a love of poetry. She could recite many poems. She was particularly fond of the opening of Wordsworth's "The Daffodils."

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils.

Every spring, I stand in awe of the patches of glorious yellow daffodils that burst to life in our yard, and I think of Margaret and the line, "Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze."

But onto the second heirloom selection of the day...

On the piano in my office is a small wooden keepsake box my sister gave to me a few years ago. It contains one third of my father's arrowhead collection and a few coins he collected in his lifetime (my brother has the majority of his coin collection because they collected coins together). My sister had the lid inscribed with a powerful quote by Tuscarora—"They are not dead who live in the hearts they leave behind."

My dad was more at home in the woods with wildlife than he was indoors with people. He filled his pockets with artifacts from the forest—arrowheads, buckeyes, interesting rocks, an old piece of pottery he found on a riverbank somewhere, a shotgun shell, etc.

I love the fact that I can hold the arrowheads and feel them from time to time. I'm sure my father's DNA— and the genetic residue of a few Native American hunters who occupied the woods of Middle Georgia—still resides on the surface of the flint pieces.

And the coins are simply works of art. I love studying them, too.

I had the pleasure of being a guest on David Clarke's radio show, Different Strokes for Different Folks, tonight. His show focuses on spiritual exploration and finding common ground with others.

Each story associated with Project Keepsake—the fifty-five stories published in the paperback and the dozens of stories I've posted on the Project Keepsake blog—is unique, yet each reveals common threads that connect us all and celebrate the glorious human experience. I connect deeply to almost every story in the collection. In some cases, I relate to the keepsake itself (like Jesse's milking stool or Julie's dresser or Sherry Poff's Devil's Ear plant) or the story reminds me of a person or moment in my own past (like Nancy's memory of her hard-working grandma or Ken Berry's story about his Masonic mementoes). We all have so much in common, and the stories in Project Keepsake hit this idea home.

I feel a strong connection to books and the many libraries and bookstores filled with shelves brimming with books, books, and more books. When I was a child, I devoured picture books—Dr. Seuss' "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" and "Green Eggs and Ham," were among my favorites, as well as a large, weathered copy of "The Real Mother Goose" with illustrations by Blanche Fisher Wright. I read them over and over again. The magical words and pictures opened my mind and took me on journeys to other worlds. They were my companions when my two older siblings and my mother weren't entertaining me.

As I grew older, I graduated to other authors and titles. I read Judy Bloom's "Are You There God? It's Me Margaret," at a pivotal time in my life, as I faced the many challenges and changes associated with puberty. I read Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" as a young adult and saw myself on the pages of her masterful literary work. The book still brings me to tears.

So when I read Dorothy "Dot" McCrory's keepsake story, I got it—I instantly got it. In fact, I stand in solidarity with her because she, too, found joy and bliss in the many pages of books at a young age.

Today, I'm posting Dot's story, "The Book" in its entirety. It's short and sweet, and the ending will make you smile. I hope you love it as much as I do. From page 66...

When I was an elementary student at Wayne Street School in Lewistown, Pennsylvania in the mid 1940s, I happened upon a treasure trove—not buried treasure, mind you, but nevertheless treasure for which I had to dig. 

I was in third or fourth grade, and it was the last day of school. Teachers began to cleanup their rooms, and as the final bell rang to dismiss us for the summer, I lagged behind and asked my teacher, “What is happening to those books in that box there?”

“Those are discards,” she said. “Books that can’t be used anymore, so we throw them away.”

Incredulous, I asked, “Throw them away!?”

“Oh, yes. Books get worn out and after they’ve been rebound once, we have to get ready for new books that will come in over the summer, so we throw the old ones away.”

“May I have some of them?” I asked.

“Well, not now. I have to go to a teachers’ meeting, but come back in the morning and you can take what you want.”

Needless to say, the following day, I was up and dressed and out the door before I could even answer my grandmother’s question, “School? On the first day of your vacation?”

When I got there, the doors and windows were open, the janitor was mopping, desks were stacked, teachers were dressed in old clothes. But none of that made an impression on me when I saw the boxes of old books sitting outside each room. Br’er Rabbit to the briar patch. My, my, my! An unbelievable bliss descended over me. If there were buckets of gold, chests filled with jewels, or mountains of dollar bills, nothing could compare to the treasure I saw before me.

“Yes,” the teachers said, “Take what you want.”

With my arms laden with booty, I made several trips to carry my treasures the three blocks to my house. And wonder of wonders—I found notebooks with unused pages in them and pencils—dozens of pencils. I was set for the summer and then some.

The foray into digging for buried treasure was just the beginning. Every year thereafter, I went back to school the day after the last day, and dug in the boxes to add to my growing library.

All my finds were great, but I found the most significant book the day after the last day of my freshman year. I collected a Geometry book and a Latin II book that year with the intention of getting a leg-up on my sophomore year. That good intention went away when I found a book called simply American Literature. Published in 1933 (the year I was born) and accessed by Lewistown High School in 1936, American Literature began with the Mayflower Compact and went into the twentieth century.    

Poetry, essays, plays, biographies, stories, and documents. I fell in love. I was seduced. There was no way to escape. I met Dickinson, Millay, Teasdale, Poe, Whitman, Whittier, Harte, Alcott, Emerson, Lanier, Lowell (James Russell and Amy), Crane, Sandburg, Kilmer. Not content, however, just to read the poems, I memorized them. Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant, The Mountain Whippoorwill by Stephen Vincent Benet, Nursery Rhymes for the Tender-Hearted by Christopher Morley, I Have a Rendezvous with Death by Alan Seeger, and on and on. No Latin II or Geometry entered my head that summer. I wallowed in the written word. Shameless, like a wanton hussy, I gave myself to this book called American Literature.

That was 1947, over fifty years ago, and where is that book? Right beside me as I write this story. When I left Lewistown in 1951 to move to New York City to attend college, the book went with me. When I moved to New Jersey to teach, so too, moved the book. When I joined the U.S. Army and was stationed at Ft. McClellan, Alabama, the book was stationed there, too. And when I settled in Dalton, Georgia in 1963, the book settled, too.

In many ways, the book shaped my life. I know I can trace my love of literature to what I discovered between its frayed and tattered covers. When I am cremated at my life’s end, I ask that some kind soul slip the book along with me to the crematorium, then the book and I, so long inseparable, will be inseparable forever. 

—Dot McCrory, Project Keepsake

We need more books in the world, folks. And we need to read to our children more. And we need to encourage our young readers more. And we need to turn off our electronics more and simply lose ourselves in stories. What do you think? And do you still have a book from your childhood? If so, which one and why?

My mission is to help people tell the stories that matter—the stories that need to be preserved for future generations. I've helped hundreds of people (young and old, professional writers and newbies) write stories about keepsakes. Pick up your pen and start writing today!

I'll be traveling south to the Jeff Davis County Library on Tuesday, July 28th to talk about keepsakes and storytelling. I'll read a few excerpts from Project Keepsake, hopefully sell a few copies of the book, and meet some great folks. Bring a small keepsake or memento to the library and share its story with me and the members of the Friends of the Library.

Books will be available for purchase (cash, check, or credit card), and as always, I'll sign a copy for you or a friend.

For more information, contact Bill Ryle at (912) 539-0008.

I think all writers and authors should give back. We should share our experiences with other writers. We should encourage young writers to pursue writing and storytelling. We should offer our advice and assistance.

Back in February, I spent a few days giving back by encouraging classes of young writers at Heritage Middle School in Northwest Georgia. I talked to them about publishing Project Keepsake, and I shared some writing tips with them. 

They were a bright, attentive bunch of kids, and I enjoyed my time there. A few of the students took on my writing challenge and wrote stories about their own keepsakes, and I've posted them here on my blog. Today, I present young Kaylie Guinn's keepsake story to you.

Kaylie has led a "charmed" life. Enjoy her story about her charm bracelet.

The roaring of "Happy Birthdays" filled the room. Everything was simply fabulous that day. We had just finished chomping on some cake when Mom yelled, "It's time to open presents."

I had just turned one, so I really had no idea what was going on. On that day—my first birthday—I received  a charm bracelet from my nana and mom. It was a sparkly, silver  bracelet with a silver "K" on it, and I loved it so much.

On my birthdays on all the following years, I would get another charm, and every charm meant something different.

On my second birthday, I received an elephant charm, because I loved going to the zoo.

On my third birthday, I got an angel, because my great-grandmother died that year.

On my fourth birthday, I got a frog charm, representing the times when my uncle and I caught frogs in his backyard. 

When I was five, we traveled a lot to the beach, so on my fifth birthday,  I got a dolphin charm.

When I was six, I had a peace sign party, so that year, I got a silver peace sign with pink diamonds.

On my seventh birthday, I received a pineapple charm, because that was my favorite fruit.

For my eighth, I received a green and pink polkadot one—representing my two favorite colors when I was little.

On my ninth birthday, I got a Bible charm. I enjoyed going to church, and I am a Christian, so the charm was perfect.

On my tenth, I received a birth stone charm to represent my date of birth.

On my eleventh birthday, I got a red and navy charm, because the colors represent Heritage Middle School.

On my twelfth birthday, I got a turtle, reminding me of the time we hooked a turtle at the lake, instead of a fish. 

Now, I am thirteen years old, and I received a charm with a megaphone on it.

All through the years, I've received charms that say something about who I am and about my life. The tradition continues, and I find myself wondering: Will the tradition ever end, or will it last for as long as I live?

—Kaylie Guinn, Heritage Middle School

I love working with young writers, so I was excited to work with the students at Heritage Middle School in Ringgold, Georgia back in February of this year. I shared a few secrets with them—use strong verbs, add a few dashes of dialogue, start with a strong hook paragraph, etc. After each class, I said, "If any of you write a keepsake story and send it to me, I'll publish it on my blog." 

I received Lindsey White's keepsake story a few weeks ago, and as promised, I'm posting the story here for the world to read and consider. Lindsey was masterful at using his grandfather's bible as a way to launch into a story filled with rich memories. It's a great tribute to his grandfather.

Enjoy Lindsey's story titled, "My Grandfather's Bible."

It was getting close to summer time, which meant it had been over a year since my grandfather passed away.  He was in his early eighties when he died.  I was twelve at the time.  I was looking through some of his old Bible studies, lessons, and books at my grandmother’s house.  That's when I came across a Bible that had "Reed White" written on the bottom right corner in gold letters. 

I started to look through it, turning all the old worn pages.  He had written many little words throughout the Bible and underlined verses in blue and black ink.  I looked up to my grandmother and asked, “May I have Papa’s Bible?” 

She said, “Well of course you can, as long as you use it.” 

In excitement, I said, “Yes I definitely will.”

My grandfather grew up in a very poor environment.  At birth his twin brother and mom died, and his father was not in the picture.  His grandmother ended up raising him.  However, he made the best of what he had.  He graduated college and went on to work for the State of Tennessee until he retired.  He was deacon and taught Sunday school for thirty-something years. 

I had always looked up to my grandfather.  He was a very Godly man.  He never once judged people.  He taught me to get to know someone by looking in their inner appearance, not outer.  I thought very highly of him.

 My grandfather and I had always been close.  Every day after school, my grandmother would pick me up and drive me to their house. We would play different kinds of games.  My favorite game was Chinese checkers. 

But the first thing I did every day when I got to their house was sit on the red and green couch beside my papa’s dark green chair and tell him a joke.  Most of the time, my jokes were not even funny, but he would laugh like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. 

Then he would tell me a new joke that someone had told him.  I remember when he asked me, “Where do one-legged waitresses work at?” 

Then he said, “IHOP,” and we laughed.  

I had the best time with my grandfather even if all we did was tell jokes to one another.

It has been around a year since I have had his Bible, about two years since he passed.  I leave his old red Bible on my dresser.  It is always open to the verse that he told me to live by when I got my first “big boy Bible” and when I got baptized.  The verse is Jeremiah 29:11.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you, not to harm you.” 

Every day I look at the Bible and that verse to remind me of what a great, Godly man and grandfather he was.  In the back of the Bible, it has pieces of advice.  There are sections on marriage, revel, repentance, and many more.  I feel that he wrote these things not only to help him, but to help me. 

That old, ripped and torn red Bible means so much to me because it was my grandfather's.  I will keep it until it is time to give it away to one of my grandkids.  Then they can pass it on to their kids.  I want it to be something that continues throughout my family. 

I have other things from my grandfather like two of his jackets, but his Bible means more to me than anything else.  Even though my grandfather is in Heaven right now, and I did not get a lot of time to be with him, he still means so much to me.  

Sometimes I will hold his Bible and read it when I am going through hardships because it reminds me of him.  My grandfather and his Bible will always be important to me.

—Lindsey White, Heritage Middle School

Lindsey may be young, but the love he had for his Papa is universal. I love the fact that he and his grandfather shared special moments together telling each other jokes. I love Lindsey inserting "big boy Bible," into his story. Again, his story is a wonderful tribute to a man who meant so much to him.

Thanks, Lindsey. Keep recording your memories and feelings.

Keep storytelling alive, friends! Share the stories that matter. If you don't know how to get started, pick up a copy of Project Keepsake and read how other writers told their stories.

 Earlier this year, I worked with several students at Heritage Middle School in Ringgold, Georgia. I shared my tips for writing stories about keepsakes and encouraged them to give storytelling and writing a try. 

Taylor Dyer was one of those students. I love his hook—the way he opens his keepsake story with the tension of a close ball game. I also love the way he articulated the sound of a baseball being hit with a bat—"BANG." I know that sound. As I read Taylor's story, I could hear that sound in my head.

Enjoy Taylor's story, "The Autographed Baseball."

“Go! Go! Go!” the fans roared. It was the last inning of the game and the Ringgold Tigers were down by one point. There was a runner on second and third with two outs.

BANG!

I have played baseball since I was very young, especially with the Ringgold Tigers select team. When I was young, baseball became a habit for me, but as I grew older, baseball started to fade away from my life.

I enjoyed playing baseball with my friends Dalton, Blake, and Wyatt, along with my other friends. Our team had won many games including the Region Championship where I had made two out of three outs in the final inning to win the game.

One of the things I enjoyed most about baseball was hanging out with my friends all the time. We would always go somewhere after my game, whether it was out to eat, to an amusement park, or over to a friend’s house to spend the night.

When I was ten years old and my team made it to the World Series, we went to Panama City, Florida. My team and I had a blast. We ate at lots of restaurants where we devoured delicious food. We won most of our games including one against a team that Tom Glavine’s son pitched on. For those of you who aren't familiar with Tom Glavine, he is a legend. He was a left handed pitcher for the Atlanta Braves during the late 1990s. 

The other team we were facing had maintained the lead throughout the majority of the game, but in the last inning of the game, our team rallied. We scored consecutive runs that put us down by only one run. There were runners on second and third and two outs.

My friend Peyton was up to bat. He didn’t swing at the first few pitches, then, “BANG!” He nailed a grounder up the middle of the field allowing both runners to score, giving us the victory. It was a hard-battled game, but we came out with the victory.

After the game, my family and I went to the opposing team’s dugout where we met Tom Glavine. He autographed my baseball and my baseball hat. I was so excited that I met one of my favorite major league players. When we returned home to Georgia from Florida, I put my baseball in front of my window in my bedroom so I could admire it every day. The ball smelled like leather, just like my baseball glove.

As I started losing interest in baseball, I began to appreciate the ball even more. It brought back so many great memories of playing baseball with my friends.  Since all of my friends on my team now attend different schools, I hardly ever see them. No matter how much I hated the hot weather, or how many times I said, “ I don’t want to play baseball,” my autographed baseball will always make me miss the greatest moments of that time.

—Taylor Dyer, Heritage Middle School

  Taylor also sent this photo of himself and a teammate standing with Tom Glavine. I'm sure that was an exciting moment for him and his friends. And kudos to Tom Glavine for signing balls and posing for photos, even though his son's team lost that day.