By Janice Lindsay
Contributing Writer
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my telephone is considered vintage. I found its photo among vintage items on the internet.
I began to wonder: Do I own a lot of vintage? Am I vintage myself?
You might remember the type of phone. It’s boxy, a bit heavy, sits on a desk, plugs into a wall jack, and goes nowhere. The receiver attaches to the base with a cord. It has actual buttons for dialing. During a call, you can always hear the person on the other end; that person can always hear you. It has only one function: phone calls. Mine sports a shoulder rest of a kind no longer available, which has cracked and is held together by pink duct tape (the duct tape is not vintage).
I never thought of any of my stuff as vintage. It’s just my stuff. Like everybody else, when I started as a young adult to make an independent life for myself, I acquired the necessary stuff. Having grown up in a Yankee environment (traditional motto: “use it up, wear it out, make do, do without”), I don’t tend to replace something just because it’s old, worn, or out of style, as long as it still works.
I’m a bit like my grandmother. When she died at 95, she probably didn’t consider that her house was full of antiques. It was just her stuff.
Internet gurus define vintage as representing a time period before the current one, but at least 20 years old and not yet 100 when it becomes “antique.”
So “vintage” is too old to be fashionable, old enough to have nostalgic appeal, but young enough to still be useful, and maybe more practical in some ways than newer models.
My couch must be vintage. My husband and I bought it in 1968 when we were first married. It has been re-covered once. I wouldn’t part with it. It’s so long that I can stretch out on it to my full length to take a nap, with room left over for the cat. And it knows how to provide comfort when my back is acting up.
My Singer sewing machine, a wedding present, must be vintage. It’s a “portable” that only a person with the muscles of the Incredible Hulk could actually carry.
Recently at a thrift shop I found a small casserole that matches the bigger one I have been using forever. The price was a little higher than what I might expect to pay there. The lady at the counter said it was a really lucky find, being vintage.
The wind-up wristwatch (1969) – battery-operated wristwatch (1980s) – raincoat with the removable wool lining (1990) – wool winter coat (1999) – favorite mechanical pencil (1978) – second favorite mechanical pencil (1990s) – favorite coffee cups (1968) – piano (1960s) – they all became vintage when I wasn’t paying attention. I was just using my stuff.
Have I become vintage myself? Am I too old to be fashionable, old enough to have nostalgic appeal, but young enough to still be useful, and maybe more practical in some ways than newer models?
Time slips away. One day, everything feels new and young. The next day, it’s vintage.
Besides “vintage,” according to the internet gurus, there’s “true vintage.” “True vintage” means that something is at least 50 years old, but not yet 100.
A lot of my stuff and I are true vintage. There is only one step left for us. My stuff and I are not ready.
Contact jlindsay@tidewater.net
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