Old Things

What is it about old things that draws us in? It certainly isn't for their pristine surfaces and bright colors... Quite the opposite, I suspect. Their worn edges, mottled patina, fading, peeling, tarnished condition alludes to layers of existence. A mysterious history, created by, held by, loved by Whom? For How Long? When? What winding paths did it travel down that led it to our hands, our collections, our hearts?

The yellow bird, the wooden bowl, the blue bell, came to me from my Grandmothers. But the others... whose Grandchild didn't care enough to hold onto the family heirloom? What happened along the way to make what was once cherished lose its value? I have often wished that such items came with an embedded computer chip that recorded its life history. We lose so much depth when we disregard our history and exchange it for the new, shiny, disposable implements of our own time.