My grandmother’s stoneware mixing bowl.
My name is Margaret and I like antiques.
I’m not sitting at the monthly meeting of a help group, but if I were there would be a hatstand at the door, and a bowl and pitcher sitting on a sideboard in the center of the room, circled wagon train style by old wooden chairs of different sizes.
In recent years the “simplify” movement has hit us all. I have downsized (really, kids) some of the things I’ve held on to for many years. I was able to say “Goodbye” and thank them for the memories. But there are other things that have a lot of meaning for me, connections to history, both mine and the world’s. I need them.
For example, a few years ago at my aunt’s sale I was able to buy her grandmother’s, my great-grandmother’s, commode. My mom said that as a little girl she remembered it in her bedroom. Crafted of oak, it has carved acorn drawer pulls; I put it in our guest room. Over it hangs a photo collage of the family farmhouse from which it came.
My great-aunt’s dishes are something else I will keep until it’s time to hand them to one of my daughters. They are ivory bone china with a golden wheat pattern and rims. If you haven’t read my book, “Folks on the Home Front,” this is the lady who was a single schoolteacher during World War 1, and who wrote letters to her brother, my grandfather, in the service. I published many of them alongside his and my grandmother’s. She was funny, feisty, and beautiful. She battled rheumatoid arthritis all her life, and as far as I know it never conquered her spirit. That’s what I see when I look through the glass of the dining room hutch doors at her plates, cups and saucers.
I’ve been able to get a few momentos which remind me of Theodore Roosevelt, whose life is deeply embedded in my love of history. From eBay I bought a copy of the “Our Young Folks” magazine, which Teedie and his brother and sisters read during their childhood in Victorian America. To think that a child read this at the same time he was reading his subscription just melts my heart. And they are really good stories, too. I wish somehow I could publicize it to kids today. Hey, that’s a good idea. I will work on it.
Personal possessions of my dad keep me in touch with him, although he has been gone for 35 years. I have his push mower that I used to cut our grass with when I was 12. I’m going to get it fixed up this summer and use it again. It will be good exercise; I will remember him every minute I’m straining to move it across the yard. The grass will have to be pretty dry, though.
I love jewelry but don’t wear much of it myself. My aunt’s collection was immense. I bought some pieces at her auction which she wore to work in her 55-year career as a secretary on Capitol Hill. I wonder, which ones were she wearing when she “bumped” into General Eisenhower in an office doorway in the 40’s? Or when young Jacqueline Bouvier stopped by Senator Jenner’s office with her Graflex camera one time during the McCarthy Hearings?
Old photos fill a large trunk in my house (I actually bought this one at my favorite store, Paper Moon, in Roanoke). They represent a century and a half of photography. Every time I look through them I see some in a new way.
I was once in the background of a televised appraisal at the Antiques Road Show (if you’re interested, I can tell you the episode number and digital time). It was in Cincinnati in 2013, and of course the most valuable thing we brought was a little rocking chair my husband picked up at the last minute, a 75 year-old handmade Appalachian work of art that had belonged to his parents. They appraised it at $800 to $1000, and we were very pleased to find out its value.
But…you probably already know the bottom line that’s coming…the value of my antiques cannot be put into numbers. They are connections to the past, reminders of those I love and respect, tangible pieces to touch and look at. I like them. A lot.