Memories For Sale
I must admit that for the most part I have never been
interested in combing through antique stores.
Oh, I know that they are popular, but what I typically see when I look
through the store windows of such shops are the things that I would likely
throw away. We called it “junk” when I
was growing up. But, several years ago I
actually stopped in my tracks as Michelle and I walked down the sidewalk of a
little town 30 miles west of us.
There, in the window display of an antique store was my
mom’s cookie jar. Well, I knew it wasn’t
actually my mom’s cookie jar, because that one had suffered a couple of major
fractures. The first was from my older
siblings. I don’t recall that anyone
ever told me the story of how it happened, but from the time I was old enough
to notice such things and comprehend them, it was plain to see that the lid of
the jar had been broken into two pieces that were glued back together. The lid was then scarred, but still
serviceable.
The second break was also something I couldn’t explain;
I am honestly innocent. I came home from
school one afternoon and noticed the cookie jar was not on the kitchen counter
where it normally took up residence.
Then I noticed several large pieces of it in the garbage bin. Apparently that break was deemed “beyond glue”.
But here in this store window, almost like an omen of
resurrection, there my mom’s cookie jar sat looking at me looking at it. I have to admit that one of the first things
that went through my mind was that it was a bit unsettling to see an element of
my childhood on the shelf in an antique store. It made me feel immediately more ancient somehow.
I noticed that the lid was missing on this one. The little handwritten price tag on it said
$39.00. If the jar would have been
filled with my mom’s chocolate chip or peanut butter cookies it would have been worth a fortune
to me. The reality that it was empty
made me doubt that it was worth the asking price. My wife stores her cookies in resealable
plastic containers that help keep them much fresher than my mom’s old ceramic
jar did – not that any cookie it held had a very long shelf expectation.
The question in my mind was whether it were possible
to recapture a tiny piece of my own childhood with a cookie jar that looked
just like my mom’s, but I knew that it wasn’t.
This jar was once filled with some other mom’s cookies; it held some
other former little boy’s memories. I
turned and walked on; I never turned the doorknob to even enter the store.
Perhaps there is some level of excitement in finding
something of great value that someone else mistook for something to be
discarded. But there is something mercenary
about that as well. I think that it is
indeed noble to put something back in use, even if it is only to look at and
admire its craftsmanship. The nostalgia of
reconnecting with a past era, a prior generation of family that used or
cherished a piece is worthwhile, I believe.
But for the most part, right or wrong, I doubt that memories can be
store bought.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Christelle BOURGEOIS on Unsplash
Comments
Post a Comment