Yesterday, my husband and I took a walk and ended up in a little cafe downtown where we grabbed a soup and a coffee (don’t mind the combination). At one side of the room, there was a wonderful huge apothecary cabinet, with many small drawers with rusty signs , showing what could be in there: cinnamon, coffee beans, peppermint…
It was then that I had an idea, or a vision: I saw myself in a room full of… well, stuff. Objects I love to be surrounded by. I thought: what if I had my own shop in the city center, with a corner where I can write and where I sell the stuff I love.
The shop would exist around several bookcases made of dark wood, all different looking. They would be stuffed with used books, some of them yellowed, some with crooked edges, some of them with notes in them from their past owners. (I always love to find things that people use as book marks in books I borrow from the library and learn something about that person. We are connected, in a way – he or she apparently likes the same book as I do, and his or her left paper, or whatever it is, is like a treasure. If I would sell used books, I thus would never “clear” them before placing them in my shop).
People wouldn’t necessarily buy the books they find and are interested in. The would be a corner with an antique, velvet covered chair or chaise longue, where people can sit down, have a drink and read in a cozy atmosphere.
They would be surrounded by paintings of landscapes from the romantic era. I would sell typewriters, analogue cameras, rusty binoculars, heavy chandeliers, cash registers, historical globes and maps, decades-old school posters, leather suitcases, ornate mirrors. There would be an apothecary cabinet with smaller items such as jewelry – brooches, pendants, rings - and ancient writing material such as ink, fountain pens, seals and writing paper. There would be ring binders with antique post cards and black & white photos.
In the back, I would work at a massy desk of dark wood, with a counter that would hide my modern pc (I may be a romantic history lover, but when I write I like to use the modern way). I would face the room when I sit behind it. My side of the counter would be filled with sticky notes and photos that inspire me for the story that I’m writing at that moment.
There would be a bell that rings when the door would open for an entering or leaving customer. The giant window would show my shop’s name in a vintage font. I would call it my cabinet of curiosities, or, in German, "Vera's Raritätenkabinett".
Who knows, one day...