I’m not sure yet what the title will be, so I will write first and see what developes.
The owner of the antique store where I work brought in some filthy pieces that someone had found in a barn. Sometimes the items will make me ache, a kind of yearning for the past of the people who owned these pieces. Two sad samplers done by Mary Moritmore in 1839 aged 10. She lived in Hannaford Stokefleming, wherever that is. Just touching these old scraps of fabric made me ache. Long dead, long forgotten.
An old picture, very faded, of a house with a stone fence surrounding it. I took it apart and emptied out the sawdust from some long dead creature and then put it all back together again. And there were some tins, tobacco of course and two shaving stick containers. These were full of stones. I love stones. Quickly I poured them into a baggy and bought them from Marilyn for a dollar.
I think they are old amber. In the parking lot of the beer store after work, waiting for John I held them up to the sun, and saw that they are translucent, the sun shining through in a glow-y way… Amber is mysterious. I had snatched up the stones to use in my tile mosaics but am at a loss now. They are not perfect, but rough and bumpy.
Knowing that I was scooping up something from Marilyn [although she does fine, she scoops too] I did feel a teeny bit guilty so I brought home a mirror to clean with varsol in the garage later to take back tomorrow. Just cleaning the grime of ages off of old wood feeds my spirit somehow.
I have a chair in the garage to upholster. It’s from another old house, a sad grimy house in Toronto where Marilyn acquired a lot of furniture last autumn. The pieces were so neglected, and carried the grime that can only come from decades of sadness. I became so sad that Saturday, alone in the store surrounded by these pieces from the Haunted Toronto house.
Eventually the furniture sold. And I bought a chair as well. It had called out to me, please re-upholster me it whispered. It’s partially naked now, the straw of another century [or two] still in fantastic shape. Some salvageable to use again. I had purchased a gorgeous scrap of fabric a few years back, all reds and oranges and golds. Just enough for that chair.
Another piece from the Haunted Toronto house I have here on a shelf above my desk. A strange ceramic piece I keep my pencils in.
The old house in Toronto had been owned by the same family for 100 years. It was downtown and one of those giant tall homes built at the end of the Victorian era. The last owner was an old woman who lived there alone. Her children all old themselves, she lived in squalor. She was probably a miserable old thing ~ note to self : Dont’ become a miserable old thing. But then she died. And the children came, and sold everything. What was left, came to my little store for a few hundred dollars.