I never thought of it as derogatory. Certainly my grandfather never was. And he ended almost every sentence, filled in any gap, with the phrase “and stuff and junk.” That could cover almost anything from his latest idea, to his shed full of tools — which were all incredibly important and useful. 

So I meant it in the best possible light as I typed in the word junk to Google one of our favorite stores here in Minneapolis. It’s called Ax-man. I houses everything vintage, used, retro — the epitome of stuff and junk. 

Never has forty-five cents purchased so much joy. It’s a little contraption to hold sticky notes. (And you know how my mother loved a yellow reminder.) So for less than half a dollar, it gathered in my Grandpa, my mother, and my love of art — the best “stuff” that I know. And it’s no accident that I found it. In this sea of junk, I was led straight to it. 

I’m still painting in my sketchbook daily. I’m never on vacation from myself. I’m on a joyful journey. Making trails. Heart paths. Finding reminders along the way — love directions. Getting closer every day.