I’ve seen Antiques Roadshow a time or two and it can be interesting, and goodness knows I love museums. But I don’t usually go into antique shops. They’ve never been my thing. I’m not a collector, I’m not into antique furniture, and I usually just think that if I need to buy something, I’m going to buy it brand new.
When we were exploring Oaxaca City recently, however, we happened upon an irresistible little place. The building was in the colonial architecture style, which is so elegant to begin with, and the doorway to the store was painted bright green–electric green like the fresh, new green of spring–with a giant Day of the Dead mural beside it. We couldn’t resist! An antique store in Mexico? Let’s see what awaits!
First thing, in the entrance, various sizes, shapes, and styles of art all over the walls and boxes and boxes of books. Faint hint of dust. Gaze teased in all directions at once–so many things in such a small space.
Then a larger room with more light, but it’s close and cluttered. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus on one specific thing. They settle first on a row of knick knacks. A porcelain ballerina with a little part of her tutu chipped off. A vintage glass ashtray like the one that was in my grandparents’ house. A picture-less picture frame.
Below those, record album covers (no actual records–interesting), their cardboard faded and worn on the edges but their cover images still attention-grabbing. Most from the 1950s and 60s, one can tell without even seeing the date. The fashion and the fonts say it all.
I move through the shelves and piles, examining these old things that were once someone’s treasures. Near the album covers are postcards and more knick knacks, a soccer trophy, picture frames. Some of these frames have actual pictures in them. Who are these people? How did they end up here? Will someone give them a new home, or will they stay here now until they and their frames eventually fade away?
Here now are several toys. A tiny guitar and a hobby horse grab my attention above all the others. Whose little hands once loved these toys and gave them life?
Next are mugs, teacups and saucers, glasses, plates, and the like. The highlight for me here is a napkin holder in mint condition: white with black lettering, commemorating the visit of Pope John Paul II to Oaxaca in 1979. My mom would be interested in that, I think, and I pick it up. When I see the dust and webs inside, however, I decide not to get it for her. I could clean it, of course, but something about its hidden dirty corners makes me uneasy.
My attention shifts to a small collection of lamps and lanterns, and I notice for the first time a chandelier sparkling overhead.
I then browse a hodge podge line of vases and baskets, which leads me to another room–this one a little darker, a little mustier. A yellowed mannequin is propped up against a small armoire beside racks of clothes. Some furs are piled on a table. Mismatched luggage is stacked on and around mismatched coffee tables. These walls, too, are covered with art.
Once again, my eyes quickly scan the basics but don’t know quite where to land.
And then I see her. Our Lady. She’s in yet another room off to one side, through an arch. That room has better light somehow, and she’s prominent in a large painting that dwarfs the two paintings on either side. She hangs slightly askew as she watches over a candelabra, a mirror, and a drum. I’m delighted to find her, but what on earth is she doing here? Who cast her off as an antique? How long has she been here in this back room, waiting?
I don’t approach her because I don’t want to go deeper into the store; I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be even this far in. There’s also something vaguely holy about the whole scene: the church-like arch (which the other doorways don’t have), the way the light complements her, the silence. I quietly take a photograph, admire her for a moment longer, and leave.
As I re-enter the first room, I catch the last muttered word of someone whose back is turned as he walks out of the store, “junk.”
Junk? The word startles me. It seems foreign, like it isn’t from here–from this place with Our Lady and the Pope’s napkin holder and the frames with real pictures in them. These things aren’t junk. They’re treasures! Someone’s treasures, anyway. Or they were.
It takes me a little while to shake the energy of that word, but I do. And I walk away happily, musing that not everyone likes or appreciates the same things–and that’s okay–but maybe we shouldn’t dismiss things too quickly because somewhere in the middle of what we might think of as “junk,” a real treasure might be waiting.
This is, of course, literal and metaphorical. In times when we think everything is going wrong around us, something amazing could also be happening, even if we haven’t yet realized it.
If we keep going, hopefully, we’ll find it.
If you're interested, please try my related guided meditation on Insight Timer or SoundCloud
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