When I go to the beach, I walk head down, eyes scanning the sand. I am a sea glass collector. Ever since childhood, I have been fascinated by the texture and colour of these pieces of rubbish. I keep sea glass in a clear vase and gaze upon it when I need soothing. Most of my glass ranges from bottle green to aqua blue. I have some shards of brown and a few pieces of my favorite, bright cobalt blue. I look at the weathered and frosted surfaces and am transported back to the beach. I can smell the salt, hear the gulls, and feel the gritty sand. Still, I ask myself, "why do I like these abandoned fragments?"
The answer is that they show the passage of time. A bottle thrown in the ocean as waste today that rolls up the shore in a week shows none of the rounded and polished character of sea glass. A bright shiny piece of glass has no appeal. It takes time to make sea glass and, even though its origin is as man-made litter, the pounding salt ocean leaves its mark and makes the glass more valuable than it was when pristine.
It's not just sea glass that I like. I like other old things. I still own my first doll, Betsy Wetsy, whose glassy eyes are unchanged but whose skin has turned slightly green over the years. I have a wooden trunk that I found in the basement of the house in which I grew up. I have never had it appraised. I just live with it wherever I am. I have other antiques and I look at their scratched, time-worn surfaces and wonder what stories exist under their patinas. I like old trees. I love old houses. I like their creaks and connections to the past. I do not think of myself as anthropomorphic, yet when I reflect on my love of sea glass, antiques, old homes and even old toys, I realize that I value old things because they are real. Being real in this sense, is epitomized by the story of the Velveteen Rabbit.
"Real isn't how you are made...it doesn't happen all once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But theses things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
The answer is that they show the passage of time. A bottle thrown in the ocean as waste today that rolls up the shore in a week shows none of the rounded and polished character of sea glass. A bright shiny piece of glass has no appeal. It takes time to make sea glass and, even though its origin is as man-made litter, the pounding salt ocean leaves its mark and makes the glass more valuable than it was when pristine.
It's not just sea glass that I like. I like other old things. I still own my first doll, Betsy Wetsy, whose glassy eyes are unchanged but whose skin has turned slightly green over the years. I have a wooden trunk that I found in the basement of the house in which I grew up. I have never had it appraised. I just live with it wherever I am. I have other antiques and I look at their scratched, time-worn surfaces and wonder what stories exist under their patinas. I like old trees. I love old houses. I like their creaks and connections to the past. I do not think of myself as anthropomorphic, yet when I reflect on my love of sea glass, antiques, old homes and even old toys, I realize that I value old things because they are real. Being real in this sense, is epitomized by the story of the Velveteen Rabbit.
"Real isn't how you are made...it doesn't happen all once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But theses things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
1 comment:
Beautiful!
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