When We Hear the Word, “Attic”

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When we hear the word “attic”, and peer thousands of miles back into the oldest, mistiest forests of our memories, a great many of us may find ourselves as that familiar rambunctious youngster we once knew. You may recall the distinct feeling of dust on your little fingertips, while rummaging through the contents of an old box dated from “before your time” (as the adults would often phrase it).

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The attic was a place of discovery where you unearthed a weathered camera -perhaps containing ancient evidence: proof that grandpa’s greatest catch might not have been a fish story after all. Or, it was where a time-faded dollhouse revealed a past when your mother also wore a size-3 shoe.

The attic told the story of your family and preserved their many adventures, and all you wanted to do was to discover as much as you could before bedtime.

Not so far back in memory, the attic would eventually become a place where we kept the trinkets and trappings of our own adventures. The chain of our experiences would soon propel us through time, while we filled these spaces. The more of the world we’d discover, the bigger it got; yet somehow, the smaller it seemed -and our live’s attics had less and less to do with a space above the garage…

…And more to do with the memories we cherished along the way.


Perhaps this could be why our heart skips a beat when we come face to face with the familiar trinkets and trappings of our past: from those bright blue tin toy trucks, to a love-rusted grill off a  ‘73 Jeep CJ-5 -a piece that’s just loaded with memories of grease and busted knuckles from that summer you finally got her working.

Attics, no matter what age we are today, simply have a way of reacquainting our souls with the simpler times when the sky held more stars than we could count (yet we were excited to try anyway). Those powerful memories -like a thin beam of sunlight from that nail-sized hole in the roof- can cut through just about anything, reminding us that sometimes the best guides back to happiness may be found in a tattered cardboard box on a dusty plywood floor.

And that is why we do what we do at Lamps from the Attic.

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  1. Doug Longenecker

    My birthday present was one of your lamps with a Marx train caboose. I can hardly stop admiring it! What a great idea.And the replica Edison bulb is the icing on the cake.

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