I was watching Antiques Roadshow again last night, one of my not-so-guilty pleasures these days. I wasn’t always able to watch it, at least not in the last few years because my ex-whatever always wanted to watch something else, so she would just berate me for wanting to watch a show about appraising a bunch of old stuff.
I guess she was too young to get what antiques are all about. Either that or she thought I was an antique, fascinated by stuff she would rather just send off to a thrift store. I sometimes wondered if I would find myself in the discard pile of antiques, too. Oh wait, I did!
But this isn’t really about the ex-whatever. I don’t have much time to spend these days romancing what is in the past, or even taking a fun cheap shot or two at the ex. Well, actually, I have plenty of time to do the latter.
Like any antique, I like to think that I have gained value over the years. It’s probably the greatest thing about growing older. Now, it’s true that I’m not really an antique (I’m only a little more than halfway there using the U.S. Customs rules), and I don’t even think I’m in need of restoration.
My ex-whatever did. I think she thought I was a nice project for her. I had some dents and scratches over the years, but she pretended to deal with it all, at least until we got married. Then I unknowingly became a project and the refinishing had begun, at first without me even knowing about it.
Since today is Marlene Dietrich’s birthday (Dec. 27th), I offer her sage advice on this very subject: “Most women set out to try to change a man, and when they have changed him they do not like him.”
So it was in my case.
I never really understood the reason why she thought I needed to be changed. She knew what she was getting when she said ‘yes’ to my offer of marriage. We had already lived together for two years. It’s not like I just jumped off the plane and got hitched the next day in some arranged marriage.
But as I watched Antiques Roadshow last night, it began to dawn on my why this happens and why I resisted her little refinishing project. You see, it could have destroyed my value.
If you’ve ever watched this show, then you know what I am talking about. Time and time again some well meaning owner has tried to improve their antique by “restoring” it.
In the automobile world, this is a good thing, of course. Restored cars increase in value when they are returned to factory new condition. Collectors prize a shiny new car that just looked as it it rolled off the production line.
If I was a 1958 Ford, I could understand her desire to do a little restoration – i.e., redo the interior, give me a shiny new coat of paint, remove the rust and grime that had built up, perhaps rebuild the old engine and when done, hang a pair of fuzzy dice between my legs and call me good to go.
But I’m not a 1958 Ford. I am more like the old Philadelphia chair that was on the show. It had stood the test of time. Its owner had resisted any attempt to refinish it. It was just a lovely old chair that had become even more beautiful with the passage of time.
Along the shoulders of the chair were deeply stained areas that were almost black. This is where people had picked the chair up or scooted it in over the years. The oils from their hands fused with the finish and the stain became darker. It’s known as patina.
A smart collector of antiquities never touches the finish. Sure, they shore up a joint that has become loose, tighten a screw here or there, or perhaps even recover the seat. But they don’t touch the finish… ever!!!
In the case of the Philadelphia chair last night, it would have been worth about $2,000 if it had been refinished. Because nothing had ever been done to the chair, not a bit of restoration, it was worth $7,000.
Wow! Seven grand for a dirty chair.
That really hit home with me. I suddenly realized the total injustice I would have done to myself if I had let the restoration project continue. I would have totally destroyed my value.
I have a nice patina on me these days. Everyone who has ever touched my life has added their own indelible imprint on me. I have layers and layers of finish that have slowly been covered by time. My finish is much richer than it used to be, not only from use, but from the experiences that have colored my life.
I’m not new anymore. I don’t want to be either. I seem to be holding my value pretty well, given the fact that I really get a lot of daily use (and abuse). I am well worn, slightly weather beaten, but I am still increasing in value… from what I’ve learned, what I’ve seen, what I’ve experienced, and who has enriched my life – the casual contacts as well as those who have been with me most of my life.
Everyone and everything has touched this creaky old body of mine. It is the patina of a life well lived. Why I was ever going to let someone peel away the layers and add a new finish – one she chose, not me – is beyond me.
So, I continue to age gracefully, hopefully becoming a little more valuable with each passing year. The challenge has been to find someone who appreciates me as I am, not for what they want to me to be. A collector, not a restorer, if you will.
Out on the Treasure Coast, wondering if taking a bath is such a good idea anymore,
– Robb