Late Night With George The Little Brown Chest That Grandpa Made About one oclock this afternoon I had that compelling urge to go discover something. Its like I can smell a deal, and maybe the force is with me, or I am just obsessed with the endless search that most all antiques dealers have to find a treasure, but I went to the end of two or three tag sales here in Raleigh on this first of this seasons cold spell, and hit paydirt. There were several around the city, and for some reason, I was drawn to what would seem to be the lesser fertile ground of a rather meek home located in an older part of town. The advertizing was awful, and other than making the listings, it beared no signs of finding treasure. If you are going to go to tag sales, it is something one does early in the day. I have actually spent the night in my car for several over the years, but I knew they were worth the effort. As I pulled up to this three bedroom brick ranch home, it looked tired, and broken down. There was an old car off to the side of the drive way, and I actually was not sure any one was there. I walked to the door, and heard a lady say come on in , so I entered the home. The home was actually pretty full of older items that were available to people through the Sears and Robuck Company around the first of the centruy. That is where America shopped during those days, and the coveted Sears catalog was a mainstay in nearly every home. There was a set of old oak dining chairs, and a table or two, and and just stuff placed here and there for decoration. I always keep my eye out for items on the fireplace because it usually centers a room. Things placed there are usually of value, and lookikng down on the hearth, I saw this little chest. The lady had it marked at 35.00 dollars, and at first, I thought it was what they called, a salesmans sample. Back in the day, salesmen looking for an income would buy these samples of the furniture from the company and would take them around to show people what the larger piece would look like. Today, they are highly coveted as collectables, and worth thousands of dollars. But this little piece was meagar. It posessed the tale-tale sings of age and use, and was truly on its last legs. It had no real style. It was just form and function, but it did drip with endless charm. Like the lines in our face, it told a story of time well spent, and good years and bad years, and maybe where we all end up at the end of the day. I kelt knelt down to the hearth, and lifted the chest up so I could see the back and under the bottom to see truly how old it was. As I was picking it up, the lady said to me, my grandpa made that, In saying that, she projected value to it, and a sense of her own history, and an irreplacable part of her past. I gently set the piece back on the hearth, and ask the lady, Why are you going to sell it? she looked down at it, and told me that when her mother was a child, which I assume was maybe around the time of the Great Depression, that her gandpa made it for her grandmother one Christmas. She told me that it had always sat on the hearth even at the old house before it had burned, and it was one of the things that they were able to make it out of the house with before it burned to the ground. She told me she had to move up north to live with one of her children, and just had to get rid of all of this stuff. I held the feeling of despair in my heart, and really wanted to buy it and give it back to her. I asked her if she really wanted to sell it, and she said of course I dont, but my son told me not to take all of my stuff, and just bring clothes, as he only had a small bedroom for her to stay in. I smiled at her, and told her that I understood what she was saying, and that I would buy the piece and would keep it for myself. That seemed to make her happy, so I paid her, and was walking out the door, and I heard a bit of a whimper, and turned around and looked her in the eye, and she said go on, I had to find her place in my mind, and understand that she had to move on from what little she had, and chop those old roots that make us who we are, and at an older time in life, just try to keep mental images of what we have had in the past, so that headed forward, things are just memories no different than like the first time we all fell in love. Or the tears we have all shead at times of sadness, and even the joy of the birth of our first child. Its hard being an antiques dealer. I sell old memories, and cherished times, and elegance of times gone by, This little chest was made during hard times in our country, and I think that it made it even more special to me. I placed it in the front seat of my car, and drove on off. When I came to a stop light, I reached over and opened a drawer, and looked at at the side piece that was dovetailed, and right there, printed in orange, was a piece of an old orange basket that was still readable after all of those years. It read, fresh from Florida. Her grandpa had used pieces of wood that were just sitting around the house, and created this masterful creation to the best of his ability and gave it to someone he loved. Its not perfect, and it really has no particular style, and its about seen its better days, but to me, it is a treasure, and one more thing, when I looked in the top drawer, it was lined in an old lining paper in a faded light blue, with our new baby boy printed on it. Just endless little pieces of thier lives, made into this masterpiece of love. George
Posted on: Sun, 24 Nov 2013 23:09:59 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015