I love antiques. In fact, you might even say I’m passionate about antiques. I love “old”. Old people, old things, old ways.
My heart warms recalling my grandma’s kitchen, early 1960s. Today it would be tagged #farmhousestyle. Red and white checked tablecloth, white metal cabinets with bright red handles, red gingham curtains… Even a red wall mount telephone with a cord that stretched forever. And chickens… Chickens everywhere. I think those are the memories that most influence my love of antiques.
Grandma at the sink, peeling potatoes or washing dishes… And eight year old me, sitting at the table coloring or gluing sequences on to a foam refrigerator magnet. She never had too many refrigerator magnets. Everything was metal… The cabinets, the pantry, the refrigerator. So each butterfly or puppy dog I created found a place of honor.
If Christmas was near, Grandma would have me creating ornaments. Styrofoam balls covered in sequences of all shapes and colors. Each sequence pinned into the ball with a colored plastic pin. Now that was a project that could keep an eight year old focused and reasonably quiet for hours.
This winter I’ve carried on my Grandma’s legacy by teaching my 10 year old granddaughter, Bella, to crochet. Crocheting was my grandma’s passion. And my iPad loving Bella, is now excited to be crocheting.
As she hooks a chain of stitches, tears them out and starts again… Just for practice. I remember Grandma’s kitchen table and my heart is full. Some memories last a lifetime, and then some.
