It started when I was probably 8 or 9. My mom went through an antiques phase, and one afternoon when we were in a former-cotton-warehouse-turned-antiques-shop, she let me buy a curling iron from the early 1900's - the kind that heated on a stove. I was hooked.
I find so many things fascinating about antiques.
The first of course are the items themselves. Because I lean towards early, handmade items, I love to see the craftsmanship (or lack thereof), and wonder who made them and who used them. Did an early 1800's father make that sled for his kids as a Christmas gift? And did they use it through the years, and pass it along to their kids and their kids and their kids until it came to me, all smooth and worn by centuries of fun? Did a mom sew that quilt for her daughter as a wedding gift? And did that quilt cover the daughter minutes after she gave birth to her own daughter? And did that grown daughter lay under it each night praying for her husband to return from war?
The sheer amount of history some of these items have "seen" is staggering, and I feel as if I am just a steward of the antiques in our home - that it's just my job to love them and care for them until they can be passed along to yet another generation.
I also love "antiques people". There is nothing better than going to an antiques show. Of course I'm looking for things to add to my collections, but it's almost as fun to just be there - to feel the excitement in the air and to watch others looking for their own treasures.
There are those who race up and down the aisles, scanning the booths as fast as they can looking for the one piece they need. There are others who come in teams, quickly split up, and talk to each other on walkie talkies about what they're seeing. There are people who see something they want and make every effort to hide the gleam in their eye, 'lest the dealer know that they've got 'em where they want 'em. Others make a beeline for their prize, and can't get their wallets out fast enough to pay for it. There is nothing better than watching someone come across the piece they've always wanted - their joy is palpable.
I also think it's fascinating to watch and wonder why people are drawn to the things they're drawn to. Some people elbow each other to get to the glassware. I'd just as soon have it boxed up and taken out back to the dumpster. Others would look at an 1830's hand-carved treen bowl I am in love with and think, "You paid money for THAT?" As with everything, to each his own.
My collections include: quilts, baskets, handmade stools, early rolling pins, treenware (items made from wood, usually for the kitchen), redware, sleds, dough bowls, heart items (cookie cutters, maple sugar molds, boxes), and on and on. I have a couple of old letters - one a little girl's 1913 letter to Santa, the other a love letter to a young woman from her secret admirer, written in the 1860's.
Possibly my strangest item is a 1600's pewter plate, owned by Jemima Stark who died 21 Feb. 1837 at the age of 77. The plate was struck by lightning in the home of Simeon Abel, her son-in-law, in Bozrah Connecticut, on 22 June 1878. I know this because the information is painted on the back of the plate, which has two chunks blown out of it, presumably by the lightning. LOVE IT!
I have a little bit of everything. You can never tell what I'm going to like - sometimes I can't even tell you WHY I like something - but I definitely know it when I see it.
I don't go to antiques shops very often anymore - at least locally. I find that more and more, they are filled with garage sale type items. There are very few actual antiques to be found - just lots and lots of "collectibles" and vintage items. Since I rarely buy anything made after 1875, they simply aren't the places for me.
However, a couple of weeks ago, O and I spent the day over at my family's mountain. Of course, we don't actually own any of it anymore. It was settled by my grandfather's family in the late 1700's and was named for them. Our family cemetery is near the hollow where my great grandparents' home was, where my grandfather was born. Anyway, we visited a nearby antiques shop that actually had some nice things. I bought an art deco European Christmas tree stand (a departure - I usually stick with earlier American items), and a cast iron bell for the yard. As I was going up to pay, I noticed a phone. It was probably from the 1950's - black, with a rotary dial. I love its' crazy big numbers and the whole look of it - not my style at all, but as I said, I knew I wanted it when I saw it.
I was completely hooked once I stuck my finger in the rotary dial and turned it. It made THAT SOUND. You know THAT SOUND - that clickety clickety click as the dial spins back to its' resting place. It is the sound of me learning to dial a phone when I was little - of calling my grandparents' house to tell them I was coming to play. I LOVE THAT SOUND.
So I spent $25 on hoping that O could fix it. I wasn't too hopeful, though. The part that plugged in the wall was unlike anything I'd ever seen. O said they stopped using that connection in the early '60's.
Well, today my dear husband spent 15 minutes taking it apart and changing a couple of wires and guess what? I have a phone that works perfectly. And the sound of the ringer might make me even happier than the sound of the dialing. So I think I'm going to put it beside my bed. Yes, it might take a bit longer to call 9-1-1 in case of emergency, but if anyone breaks in and tries to accost us, I will simply hit them with the phone's handset which weighs about five pounds.
Sometimes it's the little things that make you giggle with delight. Today is one of those days.
