Keeping Old Things Alive

The smell of coffee floating by in peoples hands as they pick through stacks of cards, books, and household items…

Crisp air breezes in through sliding barn doors erected long ago and catches my breath in wisps…

I haven’t been to a good auction in awhile so I was grateful for an opportunity to do so. For someone like me, who would rather have old things than new, the chance to fight other pickers with a bid re-energizes my lifeblood. I wore double layers and comfy shoes anticipating I’d be in that barn for the better part of the day.

An estate auction is like taking a tour of  someone’s personal museum. Their lives are laid out in neat rows ready to be reincarnated in the homes of countless others. I stared at the generations of family pictures hanging on the walls and wondered whose grandparents would be living in the home of a stranger.

When I win a bid and get to bring new life to someone else’s possessions I have a feeling of respect for them. Things are just things, but the fact that the wool blanket I brought home probably kept someone warm winter after winter brought a little warmth to my heart before I even got a chance to launder it. The wooden ironing board no doubt has kept at least one woman busy for hours, and I intend to use it too. Very seldom do I purchase things to flip them- or keep them just to stare at them. I like to use my old drying racks. If they’ve held some farmers bib overalls for fifty years I’m pretty sure a pair of blue jeans will dry on them just fine too….until my dogs or kids accidentally run into them busting them up forever. That has been the fate of the last five or so that I have bought. Have no fear, I didn’t burn the remnants. I repurposed each for one thing or another. The rack I bought yesterday is a sturdy one so I have high hopes for its continued lifespan. The kids have been warned.

I did make one impulse purchase yesterday. Tucked in between an old dresser mirror and a table sat an iron bed frame. There it leaned in pieces pretty much unnoticed until the auctioneer gave it a nod and a mention. I had seen it in the listing, and as I’ve always liked a pretty cast iron frame, I had taken a look in person earlier that morning. I could only hope I was alone in my pursuit. Usually cast iron pieces of any sort get bid up higher than I’m willing to pay so my hopes were kept on the low end.

As the sing song melody of bidding began no one bit until the opening bid sat a lowly two dollars. Trying not to appear eager or hopeful I jumped in and fought it out with only one or two other people to the twenty dollar mark. They bowed out and I stood in disbelief as the new owner of an iron day bed. All of the bedrooms in this home have beds so….

I understand that when my daughter parked the van here at home it was mentioned “what is she going to do with that?” by my son. I had stayed behind to watch a few other things sell while she came on home with the loaded vehicle. I’m a little glad I didn’t have to answer the initial questoning stares I would’ve received had I gone home with her and the bed. Momma’s no dumby. I used that time to think of ways to use a 70+ year old day bed. Like I said, I rarely buy anything just because I want it, so it sure did feel good. Maybe that’s reason enough this time.

I sat it up in the parlor this afternoon and now I like it even more. I’m getting a few ideas- but even if they don’t pan out I can always save it for a future guest bedroom. Someday maybe I’ll have grandkids who won’t mind sleeping in an old iron bed.

And so it goes. Round and round. One persons heirlooms becoming another’s. Its likely a number of my old things will disappear in the future too. Hopefully someone will value them enough to respect that at one time they were purposed and cherished; and then continue to do the same.

Auction Treasures

Clifford..the big red truck

When looking to replace a longstanding member of the family not just anyone will do. Almost every night my husband sits looking at photo after photo of possibilities. When, at long last, he thinks he finds a suitable candidate, then he makes the appropriate phone calls only to discover said candidate won’t fit the bill. Too many miles, too much rust, too many owners or a shady background….

Let me introduce you to Clifford. This 1997 Dodge truck has been the backbone of my husbands work/hauling needs since about 2006. With 277,000 miles he has begun to show age and disrepair equaling his 20 year lifespan. I’m constantly told that 500,000 miles isn’t unheard of on these engines…”he’s just gotten broken in”….but unfortunately Michigan winters may cause the engine to fall through the frame before we hit that mile marker. 

The search for his replacement has been ongoing but with another winter just over the horizon it has been a bit more serious. 

Not just any truck will do. It’s going to take a 4wd, heavy duty dually diesel to fit the bill. It has to be a Dodge: no ifs, ands, or buts. Given that Clifford has hauled his share for 20 years with almost all of his original parts I can’t fault my husband for wanting another just as good as him.

A few years back he went through a series of problems with fuel lines. Because of his age certain parts are harder to come by. Clifford was down for a few weeks while my husband called in reinforcements to fix the problem.  There have been times he wouldn’t start, times that other lines have broken leaving a trail of various fluids behind (and my husband stranded waiting for me on the side of the road). He never complains…my husband that is. He shrugs his shoulders and climbs wherever he needs to to mend the big red truck. I’ve stood back and cried, been frustrated, and then even gone so far as laying my hands on the hood declaring ‘You’re going to last until we don’t need you anymore!’ So far he has.

Just go buy another one! Easier said than done when the going rate for a new model with the needed specs runs about $50,000 on the low end. Yes, we could buy a small home for how much a new truck costs these days. Honestly- I know people with smaller mortgage payments.

I’m proud of my husband for putting us, our financial well-being, before doing what is “easy”. This summer after working long hot days he drove home with the windows down. 20 year old air conditioning has long since gone by the wayside. I hear him rumbling in from about a mile away ( I’m not even joking) and often whisper a prayer. ‘thank you God for this truck that has lasted so well for us…and thank you for your provision for what we need next…’

Yesterday we took the red beast out to the woods, trailer in tow, to get a load of wood. To reach our destination we have to drive down a fairly steep grade to where the trail leads through a valley. In the back of everyone’s mind is that what has gone down must come back up- only loaded. We filled that ole boy, and the trailer, and then breathed another prayer. I stayed behind to walk the trail back up and watched as my husband took a running start at the hill. Up and Up he roared. I’m curious how many miles away Clifford could be heard this time. I hoped I wouldn’t hear a horrific burst of the engine. Not surprisingly, like the little engine that could, we made it all the way back home without missing a beat. 

I think of the Israelites and how God made their clothing last for 40 years as they wandered. In Deuteronomy it tells us that their clothes didn’t wear out and their feet didn’t blister or swell. I guess this has been the heart of my prayer. Instead of wishing for more and better, can God make what we have last until He provides? I believe the answer is yes. 

Eventually this workhorse of a truck will turn completely to rust and be useful no more, but in the meantime he is a necessary part of my husbands’ livelihood. Clifford has been a member of our family since our children were ages 12, 9, and 5…our fourth wasn’t even thought of yet. They’ve grown up with the big red truck-hence the name Clifford after the big red dog who was a cartoon favorite. He’s the definition of what a hardworking truck is and I imagine that even once a replacement is found, Clifford will still have a home here.

Back to The Sea

Long ago on the Sea of Galilee unfolded a story that impacted my life today.

I found this image in an online gallery and loved it. These men fishing in the early hours of the day…

After many hours of fishing a man named Peter and some other fellow fishermen had come to shore. They had shared a long, tiring night with little to no results. I like the book of Luke’s account the best because it shows Peter’s heart in his response. There stands a man who is telling them to return to the sea and put out the nets again on the other side of the boat. ‘But why? We’ve been out all night. There’s nothing there. Don’t you think we tried that? I’m tired, and I don’t think it’ll work, but okay. Whatever you say.’ Back they go. Reluctantly. Alas, so many fish are caught it could only be a miracle. Suddenly there’s a realization who that man is on the shore.

Good story right. How could that impact my life today? As I listened to this referenced in a message this morning the simple passage hit my heart. 

I’m tired. I’m tired of fishing with what looks like little to no results. Long hours of work, and the fish are out there, but not in my nets. I come to shore, again. It would be so nice to sit here and watch….but then again I see other fisherman dragging in nets full of fish. Its disappointing. I have a pity party. There’s a man whom I recognize pointing back out to sea…”get back out there”, He says. I don’t want to. Been there. Done that. I have no desire to go fishing again right now, but since you seem to think it’ll work if I try again, I guess I need to. 

Tears rolled down my cheeks at the realization I’m living out Peter’s story in my own life. Jesus has told us the rewards are out there…when Peter accepted direction in obedience the results were overwhelming. Remember, these guys weren’t fishing for pleasure. It was their lively hood. They had returned to their boats after the death of Jesus. They were disheartened, felt lost and orphaned. They had money to make. No fish=no income. Seemingly there was no one to guide them anymore. This amazing turn of events gave them stability in many areas. Jesus knew they needed a good catch. He knew their faith needed a reboot too. When they returned to shore about to sink from the weight of such a catch there He was. Waiting. By a fire. Food and rest were waiting there too.
I can do all things through Christ who gives me the strength. Just like the fisherman He sent back to sea. “Don’t give up. I’ll tell you what to do.” He quietly beckons.

A Stitch in Time

I find myself once again in the quiet evening of the peaceful woods. It has been a few weeks since our last visit. As today is opening day of bow season, and the loveliest of days, I thought I’d tag along with the boys.

A little has changed in a few weeks time. The undergrowth has died down quite a bit and leaves have left a crunchy bed on the ground below my tree house perch. I can now rely on my ears more than my eyes to notice movement out of the window. With this in mind I brought along a little project I began this afternoon. 

When I was young one of my favorite people to visit was a woman named Mabel. Her kind eyes lit up each time us kids would happen into the home she shared with her son and daughter-in-law. We could find her in the same place each time: sitting in her brown rocking easy chair, enjoying the sunlight, with a piece of embroidery in her lap. Heaven only knows how many beautiful things she created in her lifetime. She wore her snowy hair curled and the same pink and white cotton gingham daydress in each of my memories…with a glass of Tang on the tray beside her. She was my great grandma. She was a saint. I know not nearly as much about her as I’d like to have known, but I know enough to make my claims of sainthood as only a Godly woman could live with patience like Job and be able to hold her tongue like Jesus Himself living in that home. She emitted peace in her corner of the living room. So that’s where I sat when I was there; at her feet. Little by little she introduced my to her colorful flosses. Soon I had a metal frame and a needle at grandmas for myself as well. Under her careful instruction I learned that what you see on the back of a piece is just as important as the front. Though not the showstopper, as the front, the amount of care taken is visible in the hidden knots and stitches. I learned that picking things apart a couple times is worth it in the end despite the frustration. Like her life, vibrant colors and shapes make a lasting picture created with patience and time.

When she passed away I inherited a couple earthly things from her that I hold precious…her embroidery hoop, flosses, and that gingham dress. As I picked up another old hoop and some new floss today the other things I hold dear came flooding back as well. I haven’t embroidered in over twenty years but the tiny stitches came back quickly. I kept hearing her voice as I checked my knots. I had to unstitch a few places and restitch them again…because she’s in my head. When finished it won’t be perfect. It will have been done with patience and love though. 

I’ve actually managed to see a couple deer tonight as I’ve sewn, and rambled on this page. Grandmas legacy lives on in this application as well: one can’t go too wrong with patience and a listening ear.