"I am Shehrazad, like everybody else!"
My grandmother bought and sold and filled her home with antiques. Victorian portraits hung on the walls, the lamps had burlesque tassels, the porcelein was as brittle as bird bones. I remember practically tripping over treasures in the cavernous attic, a good old-fashioned New England attic, that peaked like a witches hat under a pointed roof. And behind the house, a brimming barn was a menagerie for all the collectibles and pretty curios overflowing from the attic depths.
Growing up, I didn't much care for the old stuff. I hid the figurines in the drawers and the embroidered pillows under the sofa.
But I suppose it has always been a part of me, the love for what is distinguished and dusty. And besides, there are not enough drawers in the whole world to hide all our old things…
- Joined July 31, 2009