Fat Cats, Old Farts and An Eager Goat in Antiques

THE ANTIQUE DEALER AND THE STRANGE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE PROFESSION

THE PLACES I USED TO GO, AND THE HASTY RETREATS OFTEN MADE

     THERE WAS A MUSKOKA FAMILY, QUITE A FEW YEARS BACK NOW, THAT USED TO COLLECT FOR CHARITY, OR AT LEAST THAT WAS THE IDEA. THEY HAD A DONATION BOX ON THE SIDE OF THEIR LANEWAY, AND FOLKS DID DEPOSIT CLOTHING ITEMS AND SUNDRY OTHER BITS AND BOBBS, THEY NO LONG WANTED. THERE WERE SOME THINGS THAT DIDN'T GO TO CHARITY, IF THERE WAS INDEED, ANY OTHER BENEFACTOR THAN THEMSELVES. I'M ONLY NOTING THIS, BECAUSE I HAVE NO PROOF ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, BUT IT WAS A LONG TIME BEFORE THERE WAS A LOCAL THRIFT SHOP ESTABLISHED, AND THEY MAY HAVE OFFERED THE A VALUABLE SERVICE TO THE COMMUNITY. I JUST CAN'T SAY FOR SURE.
     I DIDN'T REALLY KNOW MUCH ABOUT THEM, BUT MY GIRLFRIEND AT THE TIME, AND HER FAMILY, HAD KNOWN THE ELDERLY COUPLE FOR YEARS AS NEIGHBORS. SHE SUGGESTED THAT THE WOMAN MIGHT HAVE SOME INTERESTING ITEMS TO SELL, BUT SHE HIT ME IN THE ARM AT THE SAME TIME, FOOTNOTING WITH FORCE, AND SOME PAIN, THAT THIS, BY ITSELF, DIDN'T MEAN THEY WERE SNITCHING FROM THE DONATION PILE. "THEY'RE NICE PEOPLE," SHE SAID. "THEY'VE HAD A LIFETIME TO COLLECT STUFF, SO MAYBE THEY HAVE OLD TOOLS AND FURNITURE THEY DON'T NEED ANY MORE." HER FAMILY WAS TRYING TO HELP ME, AS MUCH AS THEY COULD, GET A START IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS, AND HONESTLY, THEY GAVE ME SOME GREAT ANTIQUE-FINDING ADVICE. HER FAMILY HAD A GREAT COLLECTION OF HISTORIC PIECES, AND THEY HAD A GOOD SENSE ABOUT WHERE EXCEPTIONAL PIECES WOULD TURN UP IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. BUT THEY SORT OF DROPPED THE BALL ON THIS ONE HOWEVER, SUGGESTING I MIGHT FIND SOME HISTORIC ITEMS IN THE OLD CABIN. BUT YOU KNOW I LEARNED SOMETHING THAT DAY, AND IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH ANTIQUES. DON'T WEAR COLOGNE, THAT MIGHT ENCOURAGE THE FAMILY PET TO GET EXCITED…..AND WANT TO GET TO KNOW YOU BETTER. I THINK HER FAMILY MAY HAVE SET ME UP ON THIS DAY, BECAUSE THERE WAS NOTHING OF SIGNIFICANT AGE IN THE CABIN, EXCEPT THE OLD COUPLE THEMSELVES.

A NIBBLE ON THE EAR
     The house was more of a farm shed with rooms, and it appeared sturdy enough as you approached from the front, but then, a few steps to the right or left, you could see that it was in a precarious, day to day balance against the elements. If for example, you looked at it from the side, you might expect a gust of wind to knock it over.  An autumn gale could have reduced it to splinters at any moment, and before I entered, I listened carefully, in case the wind had begun to bluster over the fields. The roof leaked, and that was evident in many areas of the tiny cabin-like affair, that was a combination deal, of home, workshop, garage and farm outbuilding. It's one of the first things you have to shake as an antique dealer.....sort of like an apprentice mortician. No matter what you learn from a book, and at school, reality smacks you like an open hand across the face. My girlfriend told me there would be lots of experiences worse than this, if I remained in the business for a couple of decades. I knew she was right, but I still would have liked to avoid experience by this particular afternoon immersion. By the way, that was in 1977, so I've lasted through a lot of similar experiences, and she was right-on, that I needed to cut-my-teeth on adverse circumstance, to toughen up to the demands of the industry. The necessity was to get what I needed for my antique-buying customers, and being shy destined me to a shop without inventory.
     When the door opened to the tiny, dimly lit living quarters, the robust elderly woman, with her tied-back, long white hair, motioned us to come in, and find a place to sit. "We'll have a cup of tea, won't we," she asked, but it was more of a statement....that before we did any business, we were going to socialize with a hot cup of tea. The people were from the east coast originally, and were very hospitable. The thin, slightly less mobile husband, greeted us heartily, and extended his hand in friendship. It was an historic environs, that Charles Dickens might have written about, of simple, humble folk, living in a countryside cottage, living off the kindness of passersby, buying their modest garden harvest. This was the place stories like this get their root, but by golly, this wasn't fiction. It wasn't my imagination. I had stepped back in time, and these people were leftovers from the 1800's, who must have got trapped in some type of time warp, that brought them unceremoniously into the 1970's. I was spellbound. As a writer, I was in awe of all that surrounded me. It was a sensory explosion, and I remember trying to see it all…..even the stuff hanging from the ceiling, and the piles of blankets and clothing around the larger of the rooms.
     The first comfortable looking chair I found, covered in a lot of white hair, was presumably from the woman of the house moreso than the balding chap, stuffed like a doll, in the wooden rocker, whittling a small piece of pine. Yes the shavings were going on the floor. There were a lot of items on the floor, but I wasn't tempted to pick anything up. Just as I went to sit down in this chair, and brave the hair, the gentleman of the house, said abruptly, "You better not sit in Martha's chair. She'll put up quite a fuss." I didn't know that his wife's name was "Martha," so I found another chair. "Missy will be upset if you sit in her chair too," he said, without actually looking at me. My girlfriend had been to their house before, so she found a chair at the small dining table on the other side of the room. "Missy," by the way, was the hundred pound cat that had hopped up on the cushion, just as I went to sit down. I just found another wooden chair at the same table, and wondered what species of animal "Martha" was, when it finally made an appearance. While I was there, it never did get up on the chair. But Martha did make herself known.
     Did I mention the highly pungent animal aroma of the house? It wasn't pleasant, and I politely turned-down the chance to sample one of the woman's home-made biscuits. My girlfriend gave me "the look," as if to say, without uttering a single word, 'You will eat the biscuit Ted Currie, or else." She had quite a lot of influence over me, back then, but I just couldn't bring myself to eat the baking. I did pretend however, to take one for later, jamming it into my pocket for safe keeping. Yum, yum I said, returning "the look," with a wink, indicating I had met the protocol half way, and that should suffice. While I was having my tea, and watching the woman fumble about boxes stacked in the kitchen area of the habitation, I could sense something behind me that wasn't visible, when I'd turn to check it out. I could hear chewing, when no one else was consuming anything. I did overhear the woman ask her husband what Martha was doing, and as my girl chum had never mentioned anyone else in the family, still living at home, I just assumed that they were referring to another cat, or dog.
     As the lady of the house, held out her hand with some reproduction medicine bottles, she thought were the genuine articles, I felt hot breath on my neck, and a distinct nibbling on the lobe of my left ear. "Jesus Christ," I blurted out, in this God fearing homestead, and everyone jumped, as if by divine decry, he had just walked through the door in a halo of golden light. When I turned around, I was staring at the wet muzzle of an old goat, that had crept up behind me from some hiding place in the quagmire of clothes that were piled in the four corners of the house. "Decided to visit with our guests," asked the husband, of his pet that had been sampling my soft tissue. I wanted to get the hell out of there, let me tell you, but the stern face of my partner, made me sit back down again, and continue my intimate relationship with the wee beastie within. Never being at a loss for words, well sir, I was absolutely without comeback. I had no idea what to ask, say, state or question. A goat lived in this house. It smelled very much, as if a goat was living here. As a guest however, I had no choice but to ride it out, scoop the goat hair out of my tea, and listen to the voices of history, over the small, beaten harvest table, covered in crumbs and sticky stuff of unknown origin......at least happy to have witnessed this kindly homestead, where antique dealers, fat cats, and old goats are always welcome.
     I purchased a couple of the old bottles, and a few books she had given up trying to read-through, and maybe a small painting if memory serves. It was my first significant antique buying foray, beyond the relative safety of the auction, yard sale or flea market, where you had the advantage of wide open spaces, to make a hasty retreat if things got ugly. They were nice people, country folks, leading a simple life, with the creatures they found comforting, and good company on those long and cold winter nights. I'm glad I hadn't actually sat down on "Martha's" chair, because if she felt free enough to bite my ear, gads, what else might she have felt obliged to attack. I'm not sure how one gets a goat off his or her chest, so I'm quite glad about not having pressed the issue with this nimble fellow.
     My girlfriend had been absolutely correct, to take me on this adventure, as a stark introduction, to what these antique buying visits might represent in the future....if I stayed in the industry. I learned quickly, to scan the premises, of places I'm invited, to find the goats and other creatures, before I get too comfortable. As I'm particularly sensitive to auras, and the paranormal qualities of homes and other buildings, I have to deal with vibes received, (whether I want them or not) from the front door, that may suggest, "turn around, and get the heck out of here," or "I want to own this place." I don't know if I'm picking up a host of ghosts still dwelling in these residences, or not, but I always develop very clear opinions about the happiness or not, of each building I enter. I was crazy like this, even as a kid, when my mother Merle, would take me to visit the homes of her friends in Burlington. In some cases, I'd be kicking and screaming to get out, and as God is my witness, I had no idea why this feeling came over me. I didn't see ghosts, and it wasn't so much a fear thing, but just an uncomfortable feeling, as if I would definitely be met with hostility, once I crossed that threshold.
     The problem with this, for an antique dealer, is that I have to do this frequently, and I must to tell you, (in case you have aspirations of becoming a dealer) it's not much easier now than it was visiting with my mother, who might have had to employ a choke-hold, to make me sit down and shut-up. I usually came to grips after about a half hour, in the house, but I certainly never asked the owner if I could come back for a visit. There were many more houses I attended, that were perfectly fine, and I would actually beg my mother to stay a little longer. Today this is usually the case, but even if the vibe is negative, or threatening within, I will stick it out, because my business depends on it. You can just imagine how difficult it was to sell me a house. I nearly drove our real estate friend Ken Silcox nuts, because of the houses I would dismiss before fully walking through the front door. He earned his commission, let me tell you. I could never tell him why I was turned off with some houses, early in the tour. Especially when they were otherwise lovely houses, with all the bells and whistles at an affordable price. Something about the attitude of the occupying spirit of the house, said in a soft, clear voice, "Currie, get out of my house." I didn't need to be told this twice.
     While I'm not a medium, and make no claim to be able to connect loved ones with the dearly departed, I do get these sensations, that someone is tapping me on the shoulder blade, to pass on a few details to someone else in the room. I don't get complete sentences, or any real direction from the so called other side, other than feeling the person I'm with, is supposed to know, or appreciate something intimate, and well.....I'm the guy that is expected to pass this on. While I'm real good chatting with my friends and family on the other side, I suck when it comes to extending messages to people I don't know very well.....or feel comfortable with, asking, for example, whether or not they had an uncle who used to treat all his cuts and bruises with witch-hazel. It gets too crazy and I'm an antique dealer first, a writer second, and absolutely not a medium. So when I'm with clients, in their homes, talking about the estate they  wish to sell, I have a beggar of a time, deflecting this urge to stop negotiations, and ask them personal questions about family history. As I've written frequently about haunted antiques, and the few that I have owned, it has seemed to me that these persistent family members, trying to get a message to the living, might get angry with me, as a crappy conduit, and purposely haunt something I intend to purchase.....to punish me at my home or shop. You can read more about these strange antique "hauntings," by archiving in my Muskoka and Algonquin Ghosts blogsite.
     There's a woman I know, locally, and whenever we talk about antiques and collecting, I get the message, there's something I'm supposed to bring up, to jog her memory, of some important family time of the past, from those who have crossed-over. It seems they wish to rekindle some memory that I haven't got a clue about. My friend doesn't want to talk about death and what comes next, and that makes two of us. I sometimes think this is the biggest problem, for a lot of naysayers, because there is this emotional wall, that stops perception of these subtle signs from those who have passed. I'm not interested in trying to convert anybody, about the possibilities of communicating with the deceased. By the way, I've just heard a news report about a five million dollar research project, recently launched, to investigate the afterlife, and the trip that leads there. I could have saved them five million bucks.
     When out on the hustings, buying antiques and collectibles, there are many influences and situations to bypass or learn how to accommodate. There are a lot of circumstances you can't prepare for in advance. I wish I could. Like the time I went to see an elderly gentleman, who had just recently lost his wife, and wanted to sell some of the antiques she had collected during their married years. I took my girlfriend Gail on this junket, and it was another incredible learning experience. The house was full of negativity and unfriendliness, and I felt very much as if I was pushing against a jet stream to get through the doorway. It was a feeling moreso than an actual tunnel of wind. The chap was nice enough, and very gentlemanly, but it was obvious, he was having a problem coping with being alone. The house was up for sale, and he was going to be moving to a retirement facility. He wasn't happy about it, and it showed.  In my opinion, the spiritual presence of his departed wife, outraged about an intruder in her home, touching the antiques that she had cherished, was reason enough to exert a little low volume haunting. There were many family heirlooms that were to be sold off, as his family had no apparent interest in keeping them. Or at least this is what he told us.
     Every antique in the house, had a story attached. He had to explain the background of each piece I was interested in, and even those pieces I bypassed. For nearly three hours, we walked the house, room by room, on two levels, and when it came to prices, and the hundreds of pieces I wanted to buy, the only thing I could afford was a vintage pellet gun he used to scare off squirrels from the bird feeder. He would actually laugh at me, when I'd offer a price for a small table, or tea cart. I didn't even offer a figure for the dinning room set, or the hoosier cupboard. He seemed to find it amusing to thwart, and then chuckle aloud, about my attempts to purchase anything in the house. Accept the gun that he handed me, just before we left the house, with nothing else to show for our time invested. "I'll sell you this gun for twenty bucks, so your trip wasn't wasted," he said, and by golly, I paid him the money, and honest to God, I wanted to shoot him in the ass for being such a tool. I still have the gun but it's in two pieces, thanks to son Robert, who always played rough while growing up......as a Muskoka free-range cowboy.
     The man died a short time later, and never made it to the retirement home. I think on that night, he knew her spirit was still kicking about the house. I think she was held to the house, by the fact he wasn't coping well, with her loss. I honestly believe they were having sport with us, and were only validating how valuable their collection was, and how competent they had been as collectors, hustling pieces from places they had travelled together. I felt her presence, and didn't need to be told someone in the family had recently expired. As far as I was concerned, that night, his wife was hanging off his shoulder, and darn it all, he knew she was there. It doesn't take a stalwart belief in ghosts, to know when a loved one is hanging around your neck.....in actuality, or in spirit.
     So if I ever visit your house, to see some of the antiques you wish to part with, don't be surprised if I seem pre-occupied or pensive, about something I've sensed about the premises.....you may not be aware of yourself. If you've got a goat, and it lives in the house, well, just make sure the chair is properly identified, before I sit for a cup of tea and a biscuit.
     Thanks so much for visiting today's blog. Please visit again soon. Cheers.