My love affair with the past
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in love with all things historical and vintage. I can remember sitting on the couch and seeing a woman in a beautiful party dress singing in front of a shiny big band and being awestruck.
Whether it’s with the various items around my house such as my grandma’s thimble collection to the antique alarm clock in my china cabinet, or sitting in an old train station dining on my lobster ravioli and taking in the energy of the place with a sanctified imagination, I get lost in the story. Because it all has a story you know.
I could sit in an antique store for hours, maybe even days just staring at different items and trying to imagine what the story behind them is. Who owned it? What events has it seen? Did the woman who owned that ring in the showcase have a happy life? How did she get it? Was it from a husband? Or a lover? I can sit in an old building and stare at a brick in the wall or a tile in the floor and wonder who has walked across it? What fashion has come across it? On and on and on.
Unfortunately, most of the stories in this world will pass without anyone knowing them. Even mine. As much as is shared, there is an ocean of unshared. Moments that are beautiful, passionate, dramatic, sad, tortured, joyful…so many stories. I wonder if someday some of my possessions will make their way to an antique store or a flea market. Maybe some young, whimsical soul will pick up a piece of my jewelry…a necklace that hung around my neck or some other possession… and they will wonder the same things. Who was she? What made her happy? Who loved her?
Whether it’s with the various items around my house such as my grandma’s thimble collection to the antique alarm clock in my china cabinet, or sitting in an old train station dining on my lobster ravioli and taking in the energy of the place with a sanctified imagination, I get lost in the story. Because it all has a story you know.
I could sit in an antique store for hours, maybe even days just staring at different items and trying to imagine what the story behind them is. Who owned it? What events has it seen? Did the woman who owned that ring in the showcase have a happy life? How did she get it? Was it from a husband? Or a lover? I can sit in an old building and stare at a brick in the wall or a tile in the floor and wonder who has walked across it? What fashion has come across it? On and on and on.
Unfortunately, most of the stories in this world will pass without anyone knowing them. Even mine. As much as is shared, there is an ocean of unshared. Moments that are beautiful, passionate, dramatic, sad, tortured, joyful…so many stories. I wonder if someday some of my possessions will make their way to an antique store or a flea market. Maybe some young, whimsical soul will pick up a piece of my jewelry…a necklace that hung around my neck or some other possession… and they will wonder the same things. Who was she? What made her happy? Who loved her?
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