My husband collects things, “antiques” of all sorts. I collect words. Words of encouragement can be found in a number of drawers and cabinets, as well as on walls, pillows and even platters throughout my home. I have words stashed in my wallet, in my car, in journals filled up years ago. You get the picture. Books filled with “how to” knowledge are arranged in my closet where clothes are meant to be folded and stacked. I am a hoarder of words, making long to do lists rather than actually doing the list. But these vast collections accrued, sentences documenting my inspiration and pleasure as well as expressions of frustration and disappointment, make up my story. Oh, no. It is not all rosy although rosy is my ultimate aim. It fascinates me that reality is so relative and that two people can have the same experience but really not. When a sister describes a childhood memory, I think, where was I? Probably looking for words to describe my own viewpoint. If no words bubble to the surface of my mind, at least I have a grand assortment from which to choose. How grateful I am to find good words in people and places whether diligently searching or just by happenstance. The guidance above is posted in a little village in the Dominican Republic and the photo of it is my souvenir, another part of my collection of words.