Sign of the Times

Yesterday, I made my usual quick right turn and then an immediate left into the little shopping center where I pick up my morning coffee on my way to work.  I got a parking place right away, which felt great since it was 10 a.m. and already 95 degrees.  I needed that boost of an iced coffee.

I got out of the car and noticed that the three little outside tables and chairs were gone.  I decided it was too hot to sit outside.  I got up to the door of the shop.  A white piece of paper scotch-taped to the inside of the door:  "business is closed" was scrawled in hurried, crooked, printed letters.

I peered inside.  Tables, chairs, armchairs gone.  Display case, bins with coffee beans, serving counter, cappuccino machine, gone.  Some trash near the front door and some cabinetry at the back.  All that remained of the little coffee shop I had faithfully patronized for two years.  Usually, I'd run in, order a coffee and leave but sometimes, I'd steal fifteen minutes, sit down with my drink, do a little writing while inhaling the wonderful fragrance of the coffee being brewed and enjoying the friendly ambiance of staff and customers.

The owner of "It's A Grind" was a pleasant, dark-haired burly young man in his 30's who had tattoos up and down both arms.  I guess the tattoos mistakenly led me to believe he was an employee until I saw him training a new hire.  I always spoke briefly with him but never found out his name.   It was clear he was proud of his business.

Seeing that sign on the door told me that another set of dreams and aspirations was lying on the floor along with the small amount of trash left behind.  What you couldn't see, but only surmise, was the amount of time and money invested and lost.

As the owner of a small commercial building, I thought about all the work that went into this little venture.  Business plans, loan applications, investors being sought out.  Lease negotiations, meetings with contractors, architects and designers, equipment purchases.  Striving to meet health department regulations and nervously watching inspectors, training staff, developing and starting a marketing plan.  Finally, opening the doors.

Planning the new sign for your business is a big deal.  The sign has to meet city or county codes; it has to be properly installed and it has to stand out from the others because it is your calling card.  When a business closes, the big sign is usually left behind because it is attached to the building and becomes the property of the landlord.   

So the traffic continues to drive by and since the sign is there, people stop, only to be shocked by the little handwritten notice "business is closed".  There are lots of little signs like this all over America.  It's the sign of our times. 

What Objects Tell the Best Stories in Antique Shops?

Old Chairs? Pots and Pans? Books?  Kitchenware?  Paintings?  Linens and Lace?

I love to amble down the aisles of all kinds of antique shops.  Some shops are musty; the objects lie akimbo, dusty and forgotten and jumbled on shelves.  

In other antique shops, it feels like you've entered a world of elegant rooms from the past. There are finely displayed antiques in beautiful old china cabinets alongside elegant diningroom tables and upholstered chairs.  The bedrooms show heavy walnut beds with canopies and marble tables with pitchers and bowls used for sponge baths.  Or you might find kitchen tables from the 1950's with steel legs, formica tops and chrome sides and matching chairs upholstered in plastic to match the formica on the table.  You get to see lemonade sets or those wonderful metal tumblers that made cold drinks seem colder-my favorite colors were the red or purple ones.  

In fine antique stores, the objects are labeled-to tell country or region of origin, when they were created, perhaps even who created them.  But that is only part of the story.  You don't know anything about the lives of previous owners, unless of course, the items are museum quality.

But in the jewelry cases of antique shops, I like to look at charm bracelets because they give a hint of the owner's past-where that person traveled or when she graduated high school or attended the senior prom or what her prizes or hobbies were.  Then I wonder why such personal items ended up in a store instead of in the hands of people who loved and cared for her.  Did she marry?  Have children?  Or did she lead a single life?  Did she give up her own charm bracelet because she has repudiated her own past?   Interesting questions to ponder.

Last week, I visited several antique stores with my son and daughter-in-law.  And in each one, I gazed at the charm bracelets and was bothered by these questions.  So I went home and retrieved the charm bracelet I have been keeping for at least forty years.  I got it out and reviewed every object on it and recalled the memories each charm brought up.

There is the longhorned steer (trips to Texas with my father as he bought cattle),  the armadillo (we saw them on the roads in Texas), a bicycle (for the hundreds of bike races I watched Oliver and Ephraim compete in), a squirrel (Ephraim's favorite animal was squirrels and he particularly loved the book called "The Adventures of Squirrel Nutkin"), the ship's lantern (for the numerous times we returned to my beloved New England after living there for five years), the pine cone I found in a little store in West Yellowstone Montana, a howling wolf that reminds me of the wolf dogs Oliver and Joseph raised, a dog and turtle because dogs have been my most constant companions and Cozy, my turtle, whom Spencer adopted in 1980 and who still hangs out with me.

There is a rowboat and oars I found after rowing down wonderful little streams in Michigan, and two charms from Mexico because I loved the trips I took down there with Eli, and a little boy charm, purchased when my first grandson, Isaac, was born, and finally, an old-fashioned, coal-burning stove that looks just like the one I watched my grandmother cook the very best food in the world on every Friday until her death at age 78. 

There is still a little room left to hang some more charms.  I think I'll find one that shows an open book because.....oh, well.  You can guess that one.  And I do hope that when I go, one of my kids will retrieve the bracelet and not let it end up forgotten, in some antique store.