Something Old

Every so often Himself and I will go wander an antique store.  There are a couple down in Amish country that we like to stop in and a mall not too far from our house that we frequent.  We don’t usually go there to buy something; more often than not we walk out empty-handed.  We just like to look.  These stores are like museums, but with things you can actually touch. 

Most often I’m drawn to china, old quilts and books.  Over the years I have put together a small collection of old china that on which I like to serve “tea.”  Himself likes the books as well, but I usually can find him looking at coins and war memorabilia.  We are both looking for the elusive, old copies of GK Chesterton and perhaps even some Belloc and Lewis. 

The old things I like the best aren’t what we find at the stores, but what has been passed down through our families.  Usually there is an anecdote or memory that goes along with the item.  They are things that connect us with people no longer here, people we may not have ever met in our lives, but are still part of our history.

This past weekend my sister and her husband dropped off an old rocking chair they no longer had need for.  It had belonged to my great grandmother on my mom’s side, and had been passed down to my aunt, then my mom and finally my sister.  By the time she got it, it was a bit, okay, a lot worse for wear, having endured many years of my three boy cousins.  Sis had it refurbished and recovered and now it is a thing of beauty.

It sits low to the ground and has finely carved details in its wooden armrests and frame.  It rocks only slightly, quietly.  It has me wondering who sat there before me.  Did my great grandmother rock her babies to sleep in it?  Did my grandmother?  Did someone sit there reading a book they just couldn’t put down? 

I think tonight, perhaps, I’ll grab the old Chesterton I’m reading and become part of the history of that old chair.

AMDG