Buried in velvet

I do love a time capsule.

I once read a story where a tailor sewed a note into the hem of a wedding dress that he made for a girl in his village – that he feel in love with during the course if her fittings. Older and a widow, she cut the dress to make a dress for her daughter and found the note. In it he had pledged his love and promised if she was ever in difficulty he would help her any way he could.

If your a hopeless romantic like me, you might be able to identify with the buzz of pleasure I felt tonight when I glimpsed a quality piece of paper that slipped inside the torn, mended, and re-torn lining of a velvet coat that I bought in an op shop today.

It turned or to be a ten year old twenty first birthday invitation. This girl would now be thirty one. And I was thirty six at the time. I wonder who she is. If life has gone the way she hoped it would. And I wonder what I was doing at that time.

It doesn’t have the same depth of romance as the story I mentioned before. But it is a tiny slice of some ones real life. I wonder what the next ten years will bring both her and I? But I don’t wonder a lot. I think we’re better off not knowing. I don’t want to live in entitlement of good or fear of bad. Both will certainly come and that is as much detail as I desire.

I wonder if I wrote a note and slipped it in a coat, if anyone would find it. Read it. Care.

Dont know. Doesn’t matter.

But tomorrow I think I’ll post this note back to the original address. It might make someone remember. Think. Smile.

Like it did me.