It was a hot August afternoon and I was miserable. When would the pumpkins arrive I thought? I loved everything about fall, including the crisp cool air and shorter days. One more month I told myself as if that was going to make a difference in this sweltering heat.
I was on the hunt for corbels. I didn’t even know what a corbel was until I watched an episode of Fixer-Upper and convinced myself I needed a pair. I became obsessed searching one antique store to another, however the hunt was futile.
Hot and ornerier by the minute I decided to make one last stop. This antique store was a time warp. I felt like I was stepping into my Grandmother Ada’s house. The smell of dusty antiques filled my nose as I took a quick look around. Surrounded by once treasured, but now forgotten trinkets was an elderly woman sitting at a table filled with books.
“My name is Doris” she said as she reached out her hand. “I wrote this book about the Holocaust, I am a surviver. I was 14 years old when they took me to Auschwitz” she continued. She had my full attention. Doris began telling her story and tears rolled down my face as I listen intently. Continue reading