I have a secret. I go to the markets for nourishment. Amongst the piles of loved and long forgotten clothes, furniture and bric-a-brac I feel a sense of nostalgia that warms my soul. As the scent of old books and vintage dressers flood my senses, memories of childhood and my grandmother’s home fill my mind. Times when my worries were minutia and the smell of apple pies filled the kitchen. I browse the stalls with eagerness, finding contentment with each discovery. Board games in faded boxes; seventies style dinnerware; long out of print books with messages inside, “Dear Edith, Happy 12th birthday, Love Mum and Dad.” I make all sorts of discoveries, awakening memories of time gone past. Items reminiscent of treasure my siblings and I would find in the time vault that was my grandmother’s home, where we spent many holidays and happy occasions. Sometimes I buy something, often I’m content just browsing, drawing it all in. I wonder whose lives were once connected to those items sitting there abandoned. How much joy those books once brought to someone? How many children spent rainy days in the family room playing those board games? Or spent weekends dancing to the turntable that still faithfully spins? I guess I shall have to be content to wonder. That’s their secret to keep.