Welcome

Welcome to Butterfly In The Attic, a name that is so very dear to my heart and significant to my life experiences. I grew up in small-town Wisconsin; my first home was an old Victorian farm house located in Oconomowoc. I don't have many memories from that early on but I do remember the apprehension I had for the attic. It had a huge and foreboding door that I usually skirted around afraid to even look at it. But I had a very adventuresome soul and before long curiosity would take hold and I would find myself reaching for the latch.

I was caught rummaging through stacks of old papers, letters, knickknacks and boxes that looked just like treasure chests. While I hadn't been in trouble for being in the attic, my mother discouraged me from going back into there without her. She then pulled out a number of old toys and cereal boxes she had collected. She let me look at the boxes that had appealing cartoon characters that I had never seen before and advertisements for real toys just for collecting the box tops. I was stunned since in the 70s cheap plastic items and stickers had made their debut in kid’s cereals and gone were the day of actual real prizes.

I also remember a wonderful toy that looked just like a television and had an electrical cord. I am not sure if it really was as great as I recall or if it is the imagination of child that had created this grand item in my mind. But to me, at the time, it was as good as our colored counsel. Soon I had to put the items back and watch my mother close the door and secure the latch making me promise to not go in it again. That, of course, set many trends for my life; one, a clear message that only cool and magical things linger behind locked doors; two, the insatiable urge to explore even if it was scary and three, the deep passion for treasure hunting.

I drove my mother nuts begging her to take me back into the attic and as soon as I was old enough to work the lock I was sneaking in there just to take a peek at all the magnificent treasures in that dusty and spooky room.

My love of attics only begun with that room; I discovered that not only did my house have an attic but so did my grandmothers'. Grandmothers can afford to be much more generous with their time. So soon fuel was added to my fire with several grand explores through the treasures saved from the Victorian period all the way to the early 50's. Furniture, buttons, photographs, jewelry and so much more stored treasure chests filling warm and dimly lit rooms. Nothing could keep me away, not creaking floors, spooking thumps or the dusty cobwebs; I was hooked on treasure hunting.

It was after I mature a little bit and stopped coloring on everything that my maternal grandparents introduced me to the wonderful world of vintage postcards. They would tell me the amazing history of each card.  Some were from my Great Aunt Colleen (who I was named after) trapped in East Germany sent to them before the country's devastating divide and never heard from again afterwards.  And many were from their amazing travels; trips to Mexico, Arizona, Florida and the West Coast. They would tell me stories about misadventures, funny tales and harrowing car rides through the mountains.  They told me about how the weather was so different from Wisconsin and show me the rocks, minerals and plants they collected from their adventures. 

Each and every story made it nearly impossible to stay grounded in the Midwest and to stay focused on my school work or chores.  I would look at my collection of treasures and dream of days gone by in faraway places and the future trips I would be able to take. 

My grandparents have since passed but the spirit of adventure that they instilled in me still burns strong.  Along with the desire to treasure hunt that began so early in that dusty and spooky attic, I am finally able fulfill my childhood dreams. 

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