Something Olde; Something New

Many people love antiques. I am one of those people - you know, the people that travel to destinations to look at old things. The older the better, I say. There is something sacred about holding pieces of the past in my hands. It's almost as if the memory of the previous day is impressed on the object and in some strange way I can sense the feelings from yesteryear. Whether wood or photograph, brass or book, antiques bring within me a great sense of awe and a yearning to have experienced the time when the object was useful.

Many crafty kinds of stores cause my skin to itch. Take me to a fabric store and I begin to convulse. Even say the name of Hobby Lobby and I'll get my book to read in the car while you go in the store. But antique stores, the ones with the red brick fronts, large plane glass windows crowded with 'treasures' from bygone years, those stores are worth a walk through. Usually, some discarded piece of furniture or toy, pot or painting is worth a second look. What I've found is that my favorite stores are the ones that actually have the word "Olde" in it as if mis-spelling the word 'old' makes it more authentic. "Ye Olde Antique Store" or "Olde Stuff" - that's what I'm talkin' about. I want to enter those places of peddling.

On one occasion, I remember walking through an antique store after being beckoned through the front window by an assortment of olde trinkets. When I opened the front door, the bells on the frame above tinkled a bright welcome. Most olde stores still carry the tinkling bells, I think. New stores today often have an annoying buzzer (doctor's offices) or even a computer generated blip that lets me know I'm one of how many thousand customer's that have graced the floors of the store. But olde stores welcome you with that sound and even more so with the smell - the aroma of olde woods, olde books, musty, dusty scents designed to make our memories leap to the forefront of the mind of days ago that have a beautiful, golden aura about them now.

As I walked through the store I ran my hand along olde wooden furniture feeling the polished texture, cool along my fingers. The upholstery, in many cases, in shades of faded tan, floral patterns or maybe wicker chairs that creaked when I sat in them. Olde beds a couple of feet shorter than my own. Dressers with mirrors the size of Iowa. It was breath taking. Often, when I go to an antique store, I will try to determine the age of the piece and then make up my own story about the life of this antique. A certain washing basin from the house of a steel tycoon; maybe a picture frame that held the visage of Mary Todd Lincoln. The stories seem so real as if the objects themselves could speak.

Then the books. Ah, the olde books - I never buy any. Most of them are written by authors of a different style who wrote to inform rather than entertain. I don't buy them but I love to open them right to the middle and smell them. As I opened one of the books one of the clerks caught me with my nose buried in the midst of a copy of Moby Dick. She either thought I was extremely near sighted or particularly found of Herman Melville. Neither. I just love the scent of aged pages.

I could spend hours within the dark confines of an antique store finding the stories, maybe even placing myself into the voice of the past. I like Olde things and many other people do to.

People like olde things, but often, people don't like olde people.

This is not new information, but we live in a generation that would tend more to put the elderly in homes than to invite them to their own. We shy away from contact - it's the way that most Americans (and many humans) deal with death, to deny it - as if touching an older person will gives us the 'olde' disease. We shy away from their stories or more often, speak only our own rather than to listen to the wisdom of the past. We can do it on our own. You've had your life - let us live our own.

Many cultures revere the aged: Asian cultures, African cultures and South American Cultures. But, many 'western' cultures find the elderly to be in the way of the fast paced, hectic lifestyle. We smile when we move them to a 'home' letting them know that we still think about them, this place will be fantastic - a swimming pool, lots of friends, good food - but what they really want, I believe, what they truly want is relationship with family. Too often the elderly are moved into a nursing home or a permanent care facility, assisted living if you will, and forgotten about - shut out of life as they new it no longer surrounded by the comforting memories of the home they lived in nor the people who made it special.

In many ways they are a forgotten segment of society. It's a pity. There is so much we can learn and love about growing olde(r).

Walking into a nursing home is like walking into an antique store in many ways. The front sign will often have a nice name, something with 'meadows' or 'shady acres' (which to me is not that much of a positive). In the front windows will be the elderly in their wheelchairs soaking in the sun. The age displayed for all to see. An invitation. When you walk in the front doors, your are greeted quite often by a bell and a friendly hello from the front desk help and of course, the smell - quite different than an antique store - the odor of disinfectant and, quite frankly, of age.

Imagine with me, if you will, walking through the nursing home and sitting in front of the elderly, soaking in their stories, holding their polished skin, wrinkled with years, spotted with age, feeling the coolness of their fingers, and listening to the stories of the past. Hear about the Great Depression, WWII, the joys and sorrows of the fifties. Tune your ears into the music that emanates from their memories. You don't have to buy anything - they are not selling it - just soak in the beauty of age.

I have to admit, it is scary getting olde, but if family and friends are willing to walk with me the road we all travel can be paved with joy and contentment. We can travel the path together - who knows what stories we will tell?