Old Things

I like old things. I know that I have passed this condition down to my eldest child as well. Oh how I missed her today as we were wandering down Portobello Road and there were antique shops galore. And then it happened, I looked in one of those antique shops and I could see books, old books, all along the back wall. (If you are reading this Karl, you can breathe easy, I did not purchase any.) I did not purchase any, but I played with them for some time. I pulled books that I never dreamed I would see in my life time off of the shelves. I stroked them and smelled them and yes, I wept a wee bit. It was magical, just like in the Library of Unseen University. OOK! This evening, on our way back to our flat, we stopped in a regular old bookstore and it was not magical. This rather surprised me, y'all know how much I love books. And I have always loved new bookstores and will continue to enjoy them, but they do not hold the magic and warmth and depth of old books. Old books have character and a story. One of the old books that I was sorely tempted to purchase while in that shop on Portobello today was tempting me on many levels (it was a printing of Samuel Pepys diary from the 1800's, not all that old, all things considered, but still leather bound and smelly and wonderful and I am in London and it was a copy of this work that sparked the friendship that means so much to me in the book/movie "84 Charing Cross Road" which is so dear to my heart) but one of the greatest tugs to my heartstrings was the fact that a previous owner had left notes in this book. This book was so very real and loved and filled with voices. I just love that much more than I can ever express.

We spent much of this day seeing things that were nearer to "new" than we have seen in days past and it was not nearly as wonderful as the old. I love grateful that we moved back to the old at the end of our day. That we wandered across Westminster Bridge so that we could stand beneath Big Ben again and be near Westminster Abbey and the houses of Parliament. As I mentioned in a FB post yesterday, the smell of old stone is intoxicating to me.

But there was one special "old" thing that really solidified this blog post that had been niggling at me all day. It happened towards the end of our day as we were crossing a bridge to head over to the London Eye and take a ride up high into the night sky. As we walked, it was crowded. Londoners really make the most of their weekends. But as we walked I noticed an older gentleman walking in a slow but very forthright manner. He struck me because he was so measured in his posture. Then, as he neared me, I could see that he was walking ahead with his sweet little wife behind and he was parting the crowd for her. He kept looking back to check that she was there and then he would look ahead again and march forward, being her knight in shining armor all the way. I was so touched by this, I totally choked up and made my way the rest of the way across the bridge in silence. I was grateful for the distraction of a group of drummers putting on a great show so that I did not have to try and speak at that moment.

So yes, I like old things. Old things are real. Old things have character and an understanding. Old things have weathered storms and fires and who knows what else to get where they are now. And old things, whether they be of stone or of flesh have a depth of care and protection that cannot be equaled by something new and unproven. And I pray that I can some day grow and learn enough to be really good at being an old thing.