Is This You? When Everything Turns Antique

I have a friend who owns an antique store. Even the building itself is antique. The building is older than the requisite number of years things must be before being considered “antique.” For most things, you start looking at the antique version after 100 years. But! Yes, a shriveled antique “but.” The older we all seem to get, the shorter that 100-year mark seems to be becoming. In a few days, a new year will dawn, and it will magically become 2024. Shoot, 100 years ago was just 1924. I am not that old, but I knew people for years, before they died, that were born in the 1920s. Yes, antique is becoming more and more, just plain old, and not as antique as it was just a few decades ago. Oh, for goodness sakes. How can things I knew as childhood memories be antique?

I’m really trying to catch and stop myself from starting a sentence with, “I remember when…” Like I was some old grandpappy sittin’ on a handmade rocker on the rickety porch waiting for someone to come and cover my legs with a lap robe. With so much hair growing outta my ears that I keep saying, “HUH?” I, Lord willing, will not be that guy. Well, especially because I am a girl. But either way. You get it. Right?

You can buy almost anything online anymore. For a birthday gift once I got a box, about as big as half a shoe box, that was full of the candy that was made and sold the year I was born. Boy, howdy if that doesn’t bring you face-to-face with destiny. Actually, hold in your hand things from waaaaay back in the time machine. So many candies that today would be so politically wrong. But were so right and fun at the time. Bubblegum “cigarettes” that if you didn’t get the end all wet and slobbery, you could blow through the cigarette paper and maybe candy dust “smoke” would come out. Sometimes, even twice. Oh, the horror of candy from the 1950s.

What about cars and trucks and motorcycles? For instance, Honda, many moons ago, came out with the cutest Honda 90 motorcycles. One Christmas, my other half had gone to the bank, and with the help of the manager, a man I still know and laugh with, the two of them concocted the idea to get one for me and, of course, one for my husband too, two Honda Trail 90 bikes. It was quite a surprise when I opened the little package in the toe of my stocking and found two sets of keys. Oh, and later on that day, I also got the loan papers and payment book. Haha. I was so excited. He had hidden them in what we called the “old” shop, so when we went out there later that Christmas morning, two 1980 red Trail 90 motorcycles sat all shiny. Yes, 1980, 43 years ago. The scary thing is that in about 2004, we sold them as antique bikes. Oh, and we got more money for them when we sold them than we paid for them brand new. How can things I bought and paid for brand new now be considered antique?

Just as a side note to that story. We sold the bikes to buy 4-wheelers in 2004. Now, those are on the verge of becoming antiques, too. Then I found a saddle bag gas tank for the bikes, down in our “junk” treasure pile. Come to find out, even it goes for a pretty penny. Antiques. Where does the time go?

I am past the time to buy any more antiques. I am past the time to buy many things. A lot of what we bought has to be used as gently as possible. There was constantly an unspoken vibe in my life. It was to always think of the resale value. It worked very well with many, many things. Like those little Honda 90 motorcycles.

When we agonized over making a decision to cut a few inches off of the posts of a bed so it was easier to get on to, as my other half needed it lower? That’s when I quit buying things for the next owners. That day, I realized I was buying things, bringing them home, and taking care of them for the next guy who might one day own them.

Clouds parted, and angels began to sing. After years of not using things to their full potential, so our stuff would be in good shape for the next guy? That was an amazing revelation.

Don’t buy things for the next guy. Buy things for yourself.

Trina lives in Diamond Valley, north of Eureka, Nevada. Go to www.theeurekacountystar.com to get her newspaper and books. Trina’s email is [email protected].
Really!