by Barbara Beem I have a stack of Beatles trading cards that I got from buying packs of chewing gum when I was younger; I can’t imagine not having them stashed away in a closet somewhere in my house. I think “Enchanted Evening” is the prettiest design for a ball gown I’ve ever seen, and mine is packed away with my Barbie, the one I got when Mattel first introduced the doll on the East Coast. And although I never had it framed, I still have Liberace’s autograph on the lesson book I used when I first began studying piano. Now I ask you: are these things you envision when you think of “Nana’s Attic”? How about “Grandma’s Treasures”? “Granny’s Goodies”? Still, the fact remains; I am about to become a grandmother later this spring. And while I knit away on a layette set – pink, because that’s the color of yarn my daughter told me to use, I think and puzzle and ponder. It just doesn’t seem possible that someone with the treasures that I have saved from my youth could already be looking at Grandmotherhood. But I am. It seems like only yesterday that Ken and I took our little girl on antiquing expeditions. While he spent hours poring over things, mainly pottery, we introduced her to the world of postcard collecting, in an attempt to amuse and entertain her on a budget. It was great: the cards were relatively inexpensive and fun to look at. She was very careful handling the cards, and once she made her selections (she loved to look for scenes from Colonial Williamsburg), she would take them home and organize and reorganize them in albums. One day she discovered the world of Anne of Green Gables, and she longed to walk the red clay paths of Prince Edward Island. In order to realize this dream, she learned a lot about planning and working toward a goal, not to mention antiques: in a yearlong family project, the three of us regularly attended antique shows and auctions and reported on them for AntiqueWeek, saving every nickel earned for a truly once-in-a-lifetime family vacation to that tiny province of Canada. Then suddenly, we were planning a wedding, and now, six years later, this. This could be a whole new chapter in the Beem family’s collecting history. We can buy for the baby. We can shop and find new lines of things to collect. We can. . . well, no, we can’t. We can’t begin to second-guess the sorts of accessories our grandbaby’s parents want for their child. Furthermore, modern babies don’t use many of the things that babies from another era needed, and the things they do need ought to come with a user’s manual for those of us from a previous generation. Even the darling crib that I used to sleep in – complete with lamb decals – is today deemed old-fashioned and unsafe. Travel systems, Diaper Genies, and the like are not to be found for sale in the antique shops and malls we haunt most weekends. On the other hand, because we are antiques collectors, we are also something of packrats. We still have my Dr. Seuss books from the 1950s, not to mention the ones our daughter read in the 1980s. The Madame Alexander dolls that I have carefully kept for some 40 years just might appeal to our offspring’s offspring. And later, I hope she’ll appreciate the pieces of jewelry that I treasure, passed down from women two generations before me. When she’s a bit older, maybe she’ll accompany us on some of our regular treasure hunting expeditions. We can teach her, as we taught her mom, what buttonhooks are for, how people used to boil potatoes and then use a masher to make a great side dish, and why saltcellars are still a gracious, if somewhat archaic, addition to a well-set holiday dinner table. We’ll encourage her to walk, not run; to look with her eyes, not with her hands; and to ask for the dealer’s best price. As she matures, we’ll teach her that going to an auction is still the most entertaining – and cheapest – way to spend a Friday night or Saturday morning, watching the auctioneer, watching the merchandise, but mainly watching the buyers. There will be no end to the wonderful things she’ll be able to take to school for “show and tell” – the mementos my dad brought back from World War II, the cloth doll my mom hand-stitched when she was little, pictures of my grandmother when she was a riveter in a wartime defense plant. These bits from the past will conjure up stories and memories not yet lost to the generations, told to her in a way that I hope she’ll remember and enjoy and want to tell to those who follow in her footsteps. When she comes to our house, she’ll see the paint-by-numbers pictures painted by her paternal great-great-grandmother years ago, now appreciated after half a century. She can eat off the Blue Willow portion plate (alas, not dishwasher safe and a bit chipped on the underside, but still wonderful in its own right) that three generations of girls in her family have eaten from on special occasions. And she’ll hear her grandfather’s stories about the Baltimore pottery he has lovingly collected over the years.
Of course, we don’t want her to think we’re bores, that antiques are just for old fogies. In that vein, and in an attempt to make our house more child-friendly (if not child-proofed – that will come later), we are already scouring shops for old 78s to play on our newly acquired Victrola. We have a killer version of “Happy Birthday” which we hope she’ll want to hear every year. A few weeks ago, we bought for her some nursery rhyme records that thrilled children of another era. And just wait until Christmas, when we can regale her with Gene Autry’s rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus.” Maybe she’ll want to adopt her mother’s postcard collection and add to it – if so, she’s off to a great start. We are hopeful that she will develop an appreciation for the past, the people who came before her, and the things with which they surrounded themselves. May she develop an aesthetic sense, an appreciation for history, and her own sense of style. Most of all, I hope she has a soft spot in her heart for me as I already do for her. After all, Grandmothers are nothing more than antique little girls.
|