Museum night part 2

This part wasn't quite so easy. It is a bitch, being a nostalgic historian. Sometimes I don't only remember past - I mourn it.

           Once she retired, my grandma gave all of her shop to the museum. By this I mean ALL of her shop. The shop-window on display in the museum "street of the past" is the original shop window. Original down the curtains. The interior is a lot smaller, obviously, but the artifacts are all hers. Authentic, genuine stuff. That grandma not only touched but worked for the better part of the century. I grew up in that shop. I know every single detail of it absolutely. I could tell you of a million memories associated with the objects. there is a movie with interviews playing and grandma narrates her profession, how she got the moulds and materials and how she made the hats. I had to leave ere tears started coming down my face. There really is nothing worse than a living relic.

Not too sure about the sign, but everything else, almost all of the objects, are original

I actually remember these flowers while they were still alive. It's possible I was there when they were bought

The curtains, the stands. hats weren't such derelicts, but suchlike were there. She made eight at a time.

Once you entered, this was on the left - the display and the precious old mirror.I MISS these things.

Room didn't end here and the table wasn't so small, I think. nor were the walls so empty. The walls were full of shelves.

A lot of grabndma's secrets were in the moulds. The museum inherited all the moulds, but I hardly believe anyone would know how to use them. I, on the other hand, would know how to use them in the dark.

Another precious furniture piece. The customer's chair.

The old iron. One of three, I think.

This door is turned inside out. In reality, it was the outside lock. every evening, gran (and I) would lock up and go home, but stop after a few yards and return to double-check.

This is where I grew up. This is where I played with ribbons and buttons and sew things. Most of my childhood, even a vast majority of my teenage-hood evolved here. Sooo many conversations. So many scenes. Sooooo many people. there was never just gran. there were always people who came to visit and she's chat non-stop while working, non-stop. She was such a social unit. Yeesh, all those women. The gossip, the class! What an odd, odd, wondrous workshop that place was ... to grow up in.