It was love at first sight: Saturday afternoon at the flea market, leisurely ambling through a labyrinth of sights and sounds, enjoying the little bit of hustle-bustle around me, and slightly lost in a pleasant sort of way. I made a good turn and we came face to face. She was only ten or twelve dollars, "as-is", and she was going home with me. I'm speaking of a vintage alarm clock: faded nickle plating, a leathery black face, and spooky, glow-in-the-dark numerals; it had the look, a true relic. Finding your own vintage items is a great way to surround yourself with objects that speak to the past, and, more importantly, that speak to you
I'm not saying that my alarm clock secretly tells me to do things, in fact it doesn't even tell me the proper time. But when I look at it I see an object with a history, a mysterious past. I see something that carries the weight of many years, that seems to resonate with my eyes, invested already with a thousand glances before mine. But more concretely, it takes me to another time (and not just because the hands are stuck at five past three!) In seriousness, it takes me to a time when alarm clocks were an entirely different breed. They had no plug-ins but were filled with gears for the winding, they were round and attractive, not square and sterile. One could argue the past will always be a simpler time and I see the beauty in that. I believe my antiques shape my surroundings, my home, and to some degree, then, even the context of my life. These relics also have a way of diverting my mind from the hypnosis of too many modern
devices (please read a
double entendre here with the connotation of hidden schemes suggested...) Fact is, it is a good idea to surround yourself with pieces of the past.
Now, I didn't always believe this. In my younger years I much preferred a modern aesthetic, fresh as it was with an uncluttered appearance to match its barren personality. In fact, what happened was that I inherited my taste for vintage items. It was a gift in the form of a black iron Underwood typewriter that belonged to my grandfather. This is my centerpiece, it has influenced my taste so much that almost everything I bring home is in harmony with it. It's like a heavy iron heart. Just look at it and you can hear it beating with the slap of its keys. I mean, we're talking about something that represents the genius of language, the magic of combining symbols in infinite ways to create meaning in another human being! This is one of many items that came down to me in good fortune from ancestors. My grandfather's tool chest that sailed with him in the navy, a drop leaf table that belonged to my great grandmother, and dozens of other items, came from family and will always mean the most to me.
This brings me to a suggestion. If you are inspired to go hunting for treasured items, take a bit of advice that happens to work for pretty well any problem you'll ever encounter: start in your own backyard. See if you can unearth any childhood items that have been neglected or forgotten over the years. If nothing has stood the test of time, here's the next best thing to do: go looking at flea markets, antique dealers, and junk shops.You're going to find things you had around when you were younger. I've seen items I was convinced only existed in my home growing up, but, of course, were produced in number and can be spotted kicking around in cities all over the country. The appeal of these childhood objects is that they are rooted into your mind, they share your history. They are, really, a part of you.
One last concern I address here. Isn't it materialistic to care so much about mere objects? After all, Buddhism says attachment is the cause of all suffering. I guess there is some truth to this. Heck, if my house were ever to burn down I'd probably put it out with nothing more than my tears. But if you're afraid to love and lose than I'd suggest you'd better not love at all. I say it's only natural to want to surround yourself with beauty. I say it's a gift. I inherited a book from my grandfather. David Copperfield. It was part of library of books published in the first decades of the last century. And it is like a seed. I have been searching for its siblings and so slowly the collection has grown to a half dozen or so. If you open the decorated covers of these books you'll find the mark of man. One says Xmas 1920, another belonged to an architect, another to Dr.Barker who had a nice address near the river. One liked Shakespeare while another preferred Plato. These men, I'm sure, are long gone, as are the authors. But the history in those books reminds me: we can't escape death, we can only live our life as we choose and when our time comes, the world will keep on without us, just as it should.
