Old Things

I love old things. Houses built as the century turned and the windows that characterize them have captured my attention for a long time. There is something about a vertical hung sash with single paned lites that feels like a window to a time gone by.

As I drive past falling down homesteads the dormers on the steep pitched roofs bring light to attic rooms and my world. I have taught myself to build all these things. It was not the best or most profitable use of my time but I have no regrets.

On my table I have a compass from WW2. I have an small canvas bag from the same conflict. Both are probably surplus items, but its not impossible a young soldier found his way with one and another carried a message with the other. In my utensil drawer I have an antique potato peeler. Every time I use it I imagine a mother in a tiny farmhouse preparing a meal on a woodstove for those she loved.

The small town museums I love and frequent are dying now. The volunteers themselves are a dying generation. Most can barely get enough donations to keep the heat on. It makes me sad. The generation that built everything we enjoy felt it important to preserve these items. We seem uninterested in preserving their legacy as we live off it.

I recently watched an old man order a beer at a restaurant, as the server went over all the craft beers with him he kept shaking his head no. He waived his hand in resignation and slowly walked away. He did not know how to choose between 10 artisan beers with names he did not understand, and he had no interest in learning.

I saw an elderly lady sitting alone in a restaurant. She was wearing a cotton dress and bright red lipstick. I saw her, I saw her now and I saw her as a young woman. She was gorgeous then and now. She was a stark contrast to the young couple beside her in clashing pyjama bottoms and hoodies.

My young dog is turning old in front of my eyes. It is breaking and swelling my heart at the same time. I have promised him a month at the river this year. We were supposed to live there together. I may not get there in time. He deserves a season there. I am terrified to lose him.

The Bible says:

”There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,“
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭1‬-‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

As I age things I love are disappearing. When I see old things it feels like they are stopping by to bid us farewell. I struggle with goodbyes of any kind. I guess that it why I love old things.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.