Bob & Jewel

I have a love for old things. 
Things of the past.  Things that once were. 

Things that can be made new again. 

Old friendships. 

We’ve been friends since we were 5.

Old clothes thrifted and redefined, given new life by a new body, warm skin.

Old furniture just waiting to be resurfaced, refinished, repurposed.

 Old cars . . .

’67 Ford Fairlane. Travis wishes his looked this amazing. One day honey. One day.

. . . matched with old hair do’s.

Old buildings. . .

. . . their doors and windows, once turned,
opened and latched by people of generations ago.

Old photos . . . 

Picture of my Grandma, Francis (McAullife) McMahon, 1930s.

. . . and even older frames. 

They all tell a story. 
An unsung melody that you have to listen close for... or you might just miss it.

These are the kind of ‘old’ I like to hold on to... embracing it at the very gut. 

I owe my love of all things old to Bob and Jewel.
[I really wish I had a picture of them to share! Insert their 'would-be' picture here.]

They were our next door neighbors growing up on Keever Avenue,

and I would frequent their garage sales and daytime garage tinkering.

 
 For as young as I can remember, I would sneak past my mom on a regular basis, 
slipping out our front door, heading proudly over to Bob’s garage to watch as he tinkered away. 

If I could not be found, she knew she could find me there. 

 I would talk to Bob as he worked on rewiring a lamp or painting an old piece of furniture. 
I don’t remember what we would talk about.  I just remember crickety snippets of moments, like a silent film rolling along to the sound of pluckety piano music.   

[Enter potential 6 year old to a 65 year old dialogue here.]

It seemed like they had a garage sale every weekend. 

  I would peak out our side window curtains on an early Saturday morning

 only to be delighted that there was a fresh spread of things to be bought.  

Treasured and used, functional and fortunate. 

It is from Bob and Jewel that I developed the need to stop when I see something interesting on the side of the road.  Someone’s trash, potentially my treasure.

And I thank them for that.  I have enjoyed making old things new in my home. 

But most importantly, I thank them for their friendship.  As they brought new life to the furniture, picture frames, and old lamps they refurbished . . . they breathed in my enthusiasm and encouraged new life in me. 

And I have a hold on by the gut feeling, I did that for them too.