Dave and I went to a flea market early Saturday morning. It was going to be a very hot & humid day and thought it best to scope out the tables before the sun got high in the sky.
There were the typical offerings, old silverware, chipped glassware, doilies by the dozen, used toys, cheap t-shirts and cd’s.
I just enjoy the browsing, walking slow, letting my eyes go wherever they want. That’s when my gaze settled on a tattered shoe box full of old postcards.
I love looking through those… reading other people’s thoughts while they were on vacation years and years ago. The old-style handwriting, the penny postage, the salutations and ‘wish you were here’s’ still seem heart-felt. The images on the front are yellowed and antique now, but they were hip and all the rage then. I like to read the messages and try to figure out why they picked THAT particular postcard to send. What about it would the receiver enjoy or respond to?
I know, nobody usually thinks these things at 8am at a flea market, do they?
I realized I had been standing, reading those cards for about 10 minutes and hadn’t bought a thing. …which is bad flea market karma… As I was choosing which I’d like to take home, I noticed there were more in the bottom of the shoebox.
But they weren’t postcards at all, they were photographs. Professionally done, still in the folded paper frames embossed with the photographer’s name. Black and white, slightly yellowed with age, but otherwise perfectly intact.
I asked the elderly man behind the folding table, “How much?”. He responded, “Fifty cents each for the pictures. A buck each for the postcards.” I was a bit taken back. So, I followed up with, “Are these your photos?” and he said, “Yes, I’ve had them for years, but nobody in the family wants them. Might as well make a buck or two on ‘em, right?.”
Wow. Selling your family’s old photos at a flea market. Are times that tough? Are the photos that worthless? He said he couldn’t tell me who was who in any of the photos, but they were all taken around the same time and at the same studio.
I dropped the postcards and began rifling through the photos. Nobody smiled back then, did they? Young and old alike were photographed dressed in stiff, dark-colored clothing, propped up against a fancy table or sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair … each without a hint of a smile.
Perhaps they wanted to look serious for a reason, maybe it was the ‘look’ of the times. Either way, I found 2 photos that I absolutely had to take home. Like lost little pups, hurt and abandoned, I promised to care for them.
This is what they look like:
The first one is a photo of a little girl, perhaps 4 or 5 years old. She’s standing, looking directly into the camera lens. She’s next to an ornately carved chair, the curved armrest supports her bent left elbow, her head rests in her hand. Her straight, dark hair is gathered in a white rosette and falls to her shoulders. She wears a short-sleeved white dress, puffed sleeves and lace hem, with dark leggings and ankle-high, black, lace-up boots. Her right hand hangs, not quite at her side, but in front of her, in a slight fist. As if she’s unsure what to do with it. Her features are delicate, her nose small, her lips full but unsmiling. Her eyes look dark, brown perhaps, but shiny and clear. She looks uncomfortable but solid, she is posed but dignified.
The second photo is of a woman, it’s hard to tell how old exactly. She doesn’t appear wrinkled, but she has thin hair and a slightly hunched frame. She’s stands in the photo, her skin very white and pale. To her left is a table covered with white lace and topped with a basket of fake white roses. She seems to lean hard on the table, her entire body angled to her left. She looks unhealthy, but not unhappy. Her eyes are heavily lidded and she smiles, not a giant grin … but a smile that raises the corners of her mouth enough to see the shape of her cheeks. She is dressed in a long-sleeved dark dress, with satiny-looking fabric at the sleeves and the double hem, one falling about a foot shorter than the other. Across her shoulders there is a stole, it looks like a fox, with head and tail intact. Pearls are tight around her neck. She has a ring on the pinky finger of her right hand. Her hair is short, wispy, with not quite enough to part. She is mature, but with no bust to speak of, nor any hips. She’s thin, with long limbs. She wears lace-up boots as well.
I wonder if these two girls are related? Are they related to the man who sold them to me for $1.00? Are they the same person? There is something about the shape of their eyes that is similar. I wonder whose ancestors I have in my home? I wonder if by chance WE are related? How odd would that be?
God, I hope that our family photos survive better. That they have homes and people to tell their stories.
