I'm sitting in the hospital waiting room, Bruce is having his beleaguered gallbladder removed, and I thought maybe channeling my nervous energy into a blog post might be just what the doctor ordered.
I really can't remember a time when I didn't love old things. I'm sure as a really little girl I didn't care for old junk- I was as much interested in the latest toy or book as the next child. But starting in junior high, I remember being fascinated with the textures and patina of the wonderful tile, mosaic, iron work, and sculpture of my school. (See here). When I was about 14, I discovered a great old second-hand store (as thrift stores were then called), and I bought my first guitar. The strings were about an inch off the fretboard, but it was only $15, and I saved every penny myself. I remember milling around the aisles, immersing myself in the smell of old books and old wood, and the sight of ornate carving, gilded decoration, and dust everywhere. It was glorious! In 1966, I was in the 10th grade, and I had my first boyfriend. He was an artist, like myself, but very unconventional and quite the non-conformist. He dressed in old Army surplus jackets and thrift store clothes. I dressed in my Seventeen Magazine fashions, but I learned quickly to appreciate the occasional foray into the counter-culture. The first thing I remember buying, other than that guitar (which I bought at that second-hand store, not for its vintage beauty, but for its cheap price tag) was a tiny little bottle, with a beautiful label that said, 'Acme Beer'. I felt a little guilty, buying a 'beer bottle', me being the good little Mormon girl. But it was so cute, and the label was enchanting with the lovely illustration and wonderful old-fashioned lettering. PLUS it had a real gold trim. I think I paid 15 cents for it. I put it on the shelf in my room with my paper flowers and collection of papier mache accessories... I was a real sixties girl. When I went to college, I hauled that little bottle around with me to the various apartments and old houses I lived in for the next few years. By this time I had begun 'junking'... that lovely practice of scavenging for junk wherever I could find it; buried behind a house, in abandoned buildings and sheds, etc. Old, rusting tricycles, lanterns, broken pottery. I acquired quite a collection of murky old bottles, some with long-dead bugs that I could never quite remove. I still have a couple of them. The bugs are now gone. My poor roommates.... they never quite understood why I had to decorate the corner of our living room with old milk cans, or broken down road barriers. Of course, like most college students of the era, my living area was full of old crates, which I used as bookshelves. (I must admit, I still have several of those too). They made great subjects for my sketchbook, but as the years passed, most of my 'junk', especially the larger pieces, was abandoned. (Probably some younger art student gladly picked up my discards to decorate his or her own college apartment).
(The photo above was taken in January, 1974, in my room in my old house in Provo- the little bottle sits proudly on my old crate, along with all of my miscellaneous junk, bottles, and artwork)
So, here I am, nearly 45 years later, still in possession of that tiny little bottle. Today, it sits in my kitchen, on a little shelf with my grandmother's old talc can, a vintage ice cream box from Chase's ice cream factory in Provo, Utah, and some old fabric dye boxes. I think the dye is still in them, I've never opened them, because they still have their old cellophane seals. Today our home is full of 'old stuff'. Toys, musical instruments, games,books, pottery, glassware, books,linens, ephemera, books, magazines, books, (did I mention I have a lot of old books?) and miscellaneous other junk. Somehow the house doesn't look cluttered because I've managed to isolate my collections into certain areas, and much of the house looks like a normal house. But I think the days of regularly adding to my various collections is over... today I am seriously thinking about downsizing my 'stuff'. I haven't bought much other than old schoolbooks or vintage magazines for many years. Perhaps one or more of my children might someday want a few pieces for their own. (I'm not holding my breath, none of them seems too interested, except maybe Annie). But I just thought it might be nice to celebrate the small & simple thing that started me on this eclectic journey of collecting.
