Old things do not die but are reborn in the living rooms and lofts of hipsters and pack rats. I have been tasked with de-cluttering my home so of course I visited a bi yearly flee market. Makes sense right?
This den, or office, no… a library, is filled with curiosities. Classy clutter that inspires questions and conversations. Objects that tell stories, images that do the same. And of course books. All sorts of books.
Nothing here is right for me. I found a table of old boxing gloves and a perfect program from an Army Navy Football game, I love them both. Great aesthetic possessing the exact mix of character and adventure I would love to represent. I check the price tag, three dollars. I have ten in my back pocket. I set the gloves and the program down and move to the next table.
I can imagine it now, I’m sitting in a worn leather arm chair while my grandson pulls a shinny artifact from a dark wood shelf. “Wow, what is this Grandpa?” “Aaaaah yes, the mystic reclining Buddha. Back in 2012 I ventured into the secluded strip mall of a treacherous land called suburbia. After traversing an endless parking lot I was presented that statue by teenage clerk who was in hurry because it was three minutes past her break. I will never forget that adventure.”
So I walk from table to table and realize I am not dreaming of decorating, I’m dreaming about adventure. I have a notebook filled with sketches of adventurers and notable figures from history. In the front is a hand drawn map and a list of locations.
As I’m walking and dreaming of a room representing a life lived, not just decorated, my phone rings. I look down hoping it’s a potential employer. It is not. It is a reminder that I need to hurry to pick up daughter number one from ballet practice.
As we walk to the car I watch daughter number two running down the sidewalk with her arms outstretched. She is an airplane. I am a four year old approaching middle age.
Like all this old junk, my dreams just won’t die. They get resold and passed around, placed on a shelf. Dreams get dusty but there they are. Waiting.