I took a short drive with my mother-in-law one afternoon to the store just up the road.  I knew this building as the Westmoreland Lumber.  That’s what it was when I was a young girl.  My father still wears a utility belt that he received there once with a purchase.  The Lumber had closed many years ago and I was aware that they used it now as an antique/auction house however, I had never been inside.  I was blown away when I entered the store.  I couldn’t believe the magnitude of this place.  It was huge inside and cluttered full with antiques.  Now, I have always had a passion for history and great appreciation for the artifacts that have defined it, so as I strolled around this store, I was overwhelmed by everything that I saw. 

I cheerfully smiled and even laughed out loud at the; let’s call them “vintage” things I saw that I remember from my small fry years.  I stood for a moment in disbelief when I saw two tiny pieces of doll furniture.  I instantly remember the town house that my father had made me when I was little.  These two little pieces were identical to pieces of furniture that I had played with.  I of course purchased them for sentimental reasons. 

I saw Rub-a-dub Dolly, and strawberry shortcake.  Stuff decorated with Underdog, Heckle and Jeckle, and the ET glasses you could collect from Burger King during the first, original release of the movie.  I had a brief emotional moment when I found a little Fisher-Price barn on the second floor.  It was identical to the one my Pop pop always had at his house for me to play with.  If it had been in better condition, I might have brought that home too.

As I wondered through this store I became increasingly more aware of everything I was seeing.  The whole experience became morosely gratifying.  I made my doll furniture purchase and went home.  For the following week one question kept scrolling through my mind.  Am I an Antique?  A car for example, to be considered an antique it must be 30 years of age.  I am 29 years old and faced with the suggestion that I, just like a Chevrolet, am an antique. 

Should I be described as a; used, 74' model Michelle Cramer, loaded with options, air, FM radio, some scratches and some rust.? 

Now let’s tell it like it really is; Used, loaded with hot air, FM radio stuck in 1989, some scaring, and the rusting is really only noticable from the inside. 

That’s me, a 74’ antique car.  Oddly though to insure me grows more expensive by the year rather than discounted as it is for an automobile. 

When talking about antiques, they can go either way in value.  They can either depreciate or appreciate with time.   I guess I’m stuck in the middle of that concept. 

From a physical appearance depreciation is an under statement.  Bones, muscles and ligaments have been broken, stretched, torn and repaired.  Many things don’t function the way they used to, and some mornings I wish it was as easy as grabbing a can of WD-40. 

From a more inner standpoint, I would say I have appreciated with time and am more appreciative of time.  I am wiser and more seasoned.  I have the good fortune to have grown in family, friends, knowledge, and direction.  Because of all of my experiences and associations I have made through my 30 years I am richer in self and a far cry from that little girl with the doll furniture.

This all leaves a disconcerted feeling in my heart.  I’m not the first person to feel this way.  I am sure this is a feeling that every generation experiences at some point, but it feels too soon to me.  All of the sudden I am 30 years old.  My life has been passing me by and I really have never even noticed.  Usually I laugh about remembering something or seeing an old toy brought back to life, like little Strawberry Shortcake, but for some reason my eyes were opened that day in the antique store (a.k.a. Westmoreland Lumber)  to the idea that I am getting old.  
 

My toys are now old and beat up, and some are collected by people making them of monetary value.  It’s just a matter of time before my old clothes will come back into fashion along with some of those big 80’s hair-do’s (although I don’t think Aqua-Net will ever have a better decade then the 1980‘s).  Just like the Bell-Bottom’s that our mothers used to wear, all my stuff is aged, old-fashioned, or just old without the fashion. 
 

I spend a lot of time looking at old things to bring back memories such as toys and sitcoms on TV, but I have noticed that the most potent ones come not from an episode of, 80’s Strike Back on VH1, but rather from a song on the radio, a smell in the lingering air, or a drive down a familiar road with just the right weather conditions.  Those are the ones that blow me over.  That send me back into my size 6 plaid pants and a smurfette sweater.  Sometimes I feel as though I am physically right back there again and it almost brings tears to my eyes.  Now that is a good memory.