I was the kid my mother took me “junk shopping” from an early age. My brothers weren’t interested and while my dad was known to appreciate and even purchase old furniture and other items, my mother was a pro. Yard sales, antique stores, flea markets, you name it, we walked it. I could find things for nickels, dimes, and quarters in those days and there was little that was stamped “Made in China.” My mother was methodical and was particularly enchanted when she’s come across items from her grandmother’s era. She didn’t buy a lot; we didn’t have a lot of spare income when I was young but it became her happy place when she was older and was flush with money. I have to mention that my father really scored when he found an oak bookcase for a dollar at a yard sale. My mother commandeered it for a china cabinet. It’s mine now and I turned it back into a bookcase. The wood is lovely and we learned from my father that not having the key is only a minor problem…that’s what locksmiths are for.
Long after my parents divorced, my mother got remarried to a man who loved the hunt as much as she did. Joe had a pretty good track record for finding treasure. He once found a framed Cleveland newspaper clipping that had a team picture that included Shoeless Joe Jackson when he played for the Cleveland Naps. We were all very impressed. Their house was brimmed with their finds, not a hoard, nicely displayed but full, quite full. Whenever we went junking together and I would point something out it became a mantra for my mother to say “Oh, I have one of those in the attic.” The house was a 50’s ranch but in my mind the attic was on a different plane of existence.
I had the same dream multiple times…it was beautiful. I am walking around in my mother’s attic. It looked like a very large, well-stocked antique store filled with beautiful, polished wood furniture including everything I fawned over in all my excursions. The dream was a wish fulfillment although I never tried to take anything out of the attic. I just walked around and massaged the furniture. It was blissful.
After my mother and step-father passed, we had to clean out the house. I got to see the attic for the first time which was accessed through a tiny hatch in the ceiling of the laundry room. There were boxes and boxes of dishes, baseball trophies, knick-knacks, all manner of things. Just what you would expect from an attic. It wasn’t a let-down really but there was finality about it. I haven’t had the dream since my mother passed.
But I can still see the dream attic in all its glory. I can still feel the wood. I can still hear my mother say, “I have one of those in the attic…”
Khatzkel Did It 