by BNC
When I arrived, the parking lot was already full and the smell of pork rinds was wafting from one of the booths. How anyone could eat pork rinds this early in the day was beyond me, but, hey, it added to the flavor of the place, literally and figuratively. Finally parked and armed with small bills, I made a beeline for my favorite area to hunt for wooden beverage crates. Thanks to my mother who was an antiques collector when I was little, I'd been trained to see value in what others saw as junk; and after my grandmother's death earlier in the year, my interest in country collectibles had surfaced.
As I forged ahead, my eyes were scanning anything decorative for myself, or something that might be worthy of posting on an internet auction site. After all, these were great deals, and wouldn't it be fun to start a business? A section of books caught my attention. An old bible was among them, and immediately conjured up the large 1800's bible on a marble-topped chest in my mother's living room. She'd found some antique spectacles to place on it as well, with small round frames that curled around the ears. The whole display exuded a lot of character and the bible in my hand, frayed at the edges, had the same potential. "I could post this at an auction, nooo problem,..." but then I thought, "Grandma is going to send down a bolt of lightning when she finds out I'm selling The Good Book for profit," so I reexamined my intentions as I flipped to the cover page.
Published in 1913, this bible had been dedicated to "Papa, Sweetest Dad in the World" by "Peggy and Marjorie" on December 25, 1945. It looked like a masters' edition because of the extra commentary in the back including maps, an encyclopedia, and definitions of terms. The artwork was beautiful. I smiled as I noticed a child's writing and scribbles on some of the text, and a plastic wrapper with dried peanut butter folded in its corners among the pages. I imagined that Marjorie and Peggy might have used their father's book as a tablet to entertain themselves during long sermons, remembering how my mother used to pacify me in the church pew. She would rest her hand by her side while I fiddled with her charm bracelet and traced her fingers that always smelled of fresh hand cream.
They say it's not good to hang on to the past, but to someone who had endured war, this worn bible must have been especially valuable. It was continuing to comfort its owner even in the year 2000. When I got home that day, I placed the book alongside my other wares and eventually redirected my thoughts to the coming workweek (bah, humbug). As the year passed, there was no World War, only the strife of a close presidential election ultimately decided by the power of words written long ago. The following Christmas, watching my brother open his gift and marvel at the 1945 dedication, it occurred to me how collectors preserve history, and how the hands that hold the Past shape the Future.
Preserve the Past.
