Writing

Off and on all my life I have written down notes or stories, not like a true writer but one who aspires to document, share, keep things written to remember them for myself and sometimes a poor audience who has to deal with my style and imperfections (writing ones of course).
As I reflected this holiday, on my life and what is in it and what isn't, I thought of a story of a table and chairs I have in storage in Texas. It has a nice story as to how it became mine, as do most items I hold near and dear to my heart.
A few more items can be added to the list now that I traveled to Prague, Czech Republic (was once Czechoslovakia), Budapest Hungary and Vienna, Austria. Each has a short but sweet story of how I came to acquire them and why.
Then they remind me of the stories I do not have.
Like the story of the bells.
My mother owned a set of bells that was a big bell (size of an orange), with 4 smaller bells attached around the middle. So if you were looking from above, the main bell sat flat on the table and you saw the handle in the middle, with each of the four others at a slant out from the main one in an X or cross fashion. She bought them in Mexico in a border town on one of our many trips there.
When she died, my brother walked through the house, not really recognizing or having a sentimental connection to much there, because he hadn't visited much in the last several years. He saw the bells, recognized them and wanted them. I was fine with it as I had no real sentimental connection to them other than the fact they were always there since I was small and they had a nice sound. I don't know what prompted my mother to buy them or exactly where it was, Piedras Negras or Ciudad Acuna , or if they had a value I couldn't fathom.  I cannot for the life of me find a picture on Google that looks anything like them. I clearly don't know my bells. My brother may know the story, I haven't asked him yet.  But mostly my mom didn't share many stories with us and there were some we all experienced that we would like to forget.
Anyway, one of the things I hope to do this year is write. I intend to write the story of the antiques and other trinkets I hold near and dear to my heart that I have carried along through life and it's ups and downs. So whoever ends up with them will know where they came from, the story that makes them dear to me and hopefully will endear them to the next person who has them in their lives.
I also hope to write a bit of a reflection here several times a week. Or at least post a picture.