Old Things.

I really love old people.  I love their stories, their stubborn natures, the softening of their hearts once they've "seen it all."  It may take some patience, but I always learn some fascinating things from grannies and gramps.  I especially like asking about change--changes in the lay of the land, the pace of the City, the feeling of sitting on the front porch, etc. 

I guess I have a soft spot for a lot of old things. I'm obsessed by old photos.  Moments frozen in time on stiff photo paper, black & white, usually overly blown out--just enough to haunt me.  People never used to smile in old snapshots.  Instead, they stare.  They stare right through the lens, through decades of time, and meet my gaze.  There's nothing like that, like staring at old moments in time.  I can't get enough of it. 

Over this past Christmas, I found a box of old locks and keys in my parent's basement.  They once belonged to my great grandfather and were seemingly untouched for several decades.  The keys and locks were made of heavy metal--long shafts of iron or steel topped with old fashioned twists and designs, and arms of locks that clamp shut under their own weight.  Before I had realized it, I had spent over two hours fitting keys to locks, examining the symbols and words welded into each, and imagining what trash or treasures they once protected.  When I finally put the heavy box away, my hands had the smell of old metal, rust and steel, ancient dust and dirt.  It's the kind of smell that lets you know you've visited a different time.  The kind of smell I absolutely love.