Thanksgiving Monday Is The Perfect Time To Entertain Some Old and Dear Spirits, Some That We Are Only Meeting For The First Time

 

Thanksgiving Monday is Perfect for the Birch Hollow Ghosts To Replay the Past - At Their Speed - And It’s a Pretty Light-hearted Family Affair

     In a regional antique venue, about a year ago, I was wandering aimlessly through some less travelled booths that I seldom attended on our regular visits. I have my favorite haunts in these antique collectives, and on this occasion, I was waiting for the rest of my family to finish their shopping, and checkout, as my items to purchase were already stacked on the sales counter. But I was drawn to this booth, and I was resisting the urge, simply because I was tired and in need of lunch at a fast food place up the highway. As a rather superstitious antique dealer, I always follow my hunches that come from origins unknown, but on most occasions they will pull me toward something I very much need to be aware of at the time. I’ve been antique hunting since the mid 1970’s, and these hunches have usually paid off with interesting and historically significant finds. I will, without shyness, suggest that I am very tuned to assistance from my historical and antique hunting mates, who have unfortunately passed this mortal coil; but still remain in contact with me, in so many strange but endearing ways. I’m not going to turn down help, especially when it works to my general advantage. If my son thinks he’s a chicken, and lays eggs, I’m not going to tell him he’s not a chicken. We love eggs.

     On this occasion I was drawn deep into the booth that exhibits general pine furnishings and pioneer era artifacts of a general nature. But on one of the pine shelves was a curious “seal” stamp, of which as a rule, I have a mild affection, if the name on the seal is something I recognize. In this case, I didn’t have a clue what the registration was all about, but it was, by title, something that begged some research. I don’t like to be rude by standing there, out in the open, looking up antique items on the internet, unless there is a particularly good reason. I didn’t have one on this day, and Suzanne and the boys were well out of reach if I had wanted immediate assistance. It was priced at about thirty dollars and I felt that it was well worth the investment; but this silently received message was coming from somewhere beyond the actuality of that visitation. My buddies, who have crossed over, although I can’t say which one of my historian chums was sending the message, know how to stop me in my tracks. I know not to question their immortal judgements; based of course on their own real life adventures of which I played a small part.

     I made the purchase, and as usual had to answer questions from each member of the Currie gang, about the significance of this particular seal and press. I couldn’t answer specifically, but they know that I often get these “buy it now” messages from the great beyond, and they generally leave me to my own devices. I’m sure they wonder silently if the old man has finally flipped-out on this paranormal thing, but in a majority of these random purchases, I’m usually proven right, and come home with a treasure. I was drawn to a booth I very seldom ever entered on past visits, and I only went to one corner of the booth, and my eyes landed upon only one item amongst many other curiosities for sale on the shelves in question. I have written often about this sort of “hunch” or “inkling” including what I refer to as “enchanted” and “animated,” heirloom pieces, that have ambitions of their own. I want to share a video with you today that plays up this side of the antique profession that few dealers, even the veterans of the industry, like to talk about, or admit having experienced. I don’t have a problem with this at all, or admitting to a strong belief in ghosts generally. I’ve seen them, smelled them, and yes, accidentally tasted one, which kind of sucked but added to my knowledge of paranormal situations.

     I’m not going to reveal the entirety of this story until tomorrow’s post. I think you’ll get a kick out of the story and the incredible provenance of the stamp and seal that I purchased, on the advice of, well, “I don’t know who, but they’re not currently amongst the living.” Was it a valuable piece? An historic item of museum quality? Could you have guessed at its heritage at the time of purchase without other assistance? When Suzanne, the next day, looked up the name on the seal, we both got a pleasant surprise. As historians as well as antique dealers we were impressed with our purchase. And since then, over the past year? We’ve found out a lot more about how this rather common legal seal is tied into one of the greatest family tragedies in world history. And there it was, sitting without context, amongst the generalities of another era; and I was introduced to something I needed to purchase, by friendly forces unknown. Gosh I love this business. 

     We are very much the poster family for conservative living in a non-aggressive, reasonably well thought out, mildly jovial, historical way that seldom requires the presence of local constables to break up the party. Back in our youth, Suzanne and I could get up to a little mischief on holiday weekends, but compared to the lifestyles of friends we have had over the decades, we couldn’t lay claim to anything that would earn a mere mention in a “Believe it or Not” book, or get any publicity in the local press as record of our wild antics foisted on our neighborhood. The boys, Andrew and Robert let their emotions stir semi-wildly when on-stage with their guitars and drums, and even the post concert wind-down is pretty relaxed, as both lads are moderate consumers of locally brewed beer at their favorite pub. I don’t have any reason to explain this about our family, other than to counterpoint the issue, by suggesting the four Curries in contrast to general normalcy, aren’t at all adverse to some strange alter amusements here at Birch Hollow; or the family home where we certainly aren’t afraid of ghosts, or their occasional hauntings. And where, for special occasions, the wee ghosts and bandy legged we beasties, that hang out around here, are cordially invited to attend, even if they won’t partake in our special holiday buffet, placed on the old pine groaning board at hearthside.

      Well, it’s sort of complicated to explain without a forensic audit, but suffice to say, we Curries are the architects of our own hauntings; not because we invent them, but the very fact that we continue to fill the modest wee cabin here, overlooking The Bog, with all kinds of once lovingly owned items belonging to the deceased. It’s what feeds our antique and collectable business, as I have mentioned many times in past stories and related business chronicles. There are pieces that were particularly coveted by former owners, who in life, would never, ever, think of parting with certain heirloom articles, but mostly of the antique variety; whether a Victorian era doll handed down through the generations, or period toys that suffered through generations of new owners, from the same family, and all the rough play that may have entailed; and then been shut up in an attic steamer trunk for yet another generation or two, where there were no kids left to exercise these now abandoned adornments representing so many past childhoods. Think of the Teddy Bear that soaked up the tears from anguished children, over the century-plus, and how many intimacies of feelings, were share with the plush toy, and tell me honestly you wouldn’t look intently at the same toy, as one similar to your own; and ponder if like Pooh Bear, there wasn’t a little childhood enhancement leftover from so many emotional healing sessions, that transfer to the present tense.

     We have a large collection in our possession, of just such antiquities and special pieces, that may or may not carry the past forward, and emit an ever so gentle paranormal presence; that at the very least, makes the observer feel that there is more energy in the subject room than can be easily explained. We very much believe that some of the antiques, toys or special keepsake boxes, are still in some paranormal way, being held as special by those who have crossed over; and who have ceased being part of this mortal coil we call day to day living. When we have a holiday weekend at Birch Hollow, dating all the way back to our very first Hallowe’en and the Christmas here, we, by tradition, have come to recognize these so called “enchanted pieces” that can animate in many curious ways, and fill our abode with a most resonating strangeness; that by the way, we no longer fear as intrusive. In all the residences, rented and owned, that Suzanne and I have lived-in since we married, in the early 1980’s, we have always been surrounded by hundreds of heirloom pieces, from either her family or mine, along with the antiquities we specialize in as a profession. I’ve been working as an antique dealer since my initial foray in about 1975, turning pro with my first shop in Bracebridge, circa 1977. Suzanne and I have been in the antique business seemingly since the beginning of our relationship, and that has meant an ongoing relationship with newly acquired heirloom pieces; because these are the ones we love most. Pieces that come with provenance and that have arrived in our possession with, you might say, some providential activities, we might come to believe were meant just for us, for whatever reason. We should note here, that most enhanced pieces, that may carry a little spiritual extra-sauce, are very seldom ever sold off indiscriminately through our business; there is usually a feeling we get with certain pieces, that we know were intimately important to the now deceased, that we must be respectful of who gets the article down the line……and there is always “a line” of definition, and it’s most often the case, that we simply have no room left at the inn for any more enhanced this and thats! We should note that there have been pieces we have sold where we have felt obliged to let the new owners know about their particular enchantments. We don’t sell haunted pieces to unsuspecting customers. That would be nice, at all.

    When we had our Thanksgiving celebration here at Birch Hollow yesterday, which is still going on to this hour on Thanksgiving Monday, we extend full rights and privileges to all the specially graced antiquities and other, to join us in the recognition of all the combined historical relevances we have lived through in our own lives; and we admit to enjoying all the most “curious and curiouser,” inanimate-object chronicles, from our special residents of this deliciously haunted place on the hillside above the moor; in the local sense and reality of course. We are not deniers of the paranormal, and we, as a family, are always interested in whatever messages from the great beyond which for some latent emotional reason, need a social airing. We are never fearful of bringing in an item we think may be mildly haunted by a former owner, (or owners), because it will be in good company in this odd family that might one day be the subject of a Tim Burton-esque movie about “Living With Haunted Stuff and Loving it!”

     We accept that ownership of some profoundly loved articles of the past, can’t be broken simply by demise; a cherished confidant of a Teddy Bear, a favorite doll, or a special box made for love letters from a former suitor, can be possessed in an extension of that loving relationship. But you have to know a little more about how this manifests in real time, and is recognized, for example, by a watcher nearby, who can’t explain otherwise why a doll has suddenly fallen over, or a box lid opened all on its own, or even that a row of old lead soldiers has fallen down, as if by the actions of a former owner-child, playing out yet another war game in a bedroom. We have learned to accommodate these frequent demonstrations of extended spiritual ownership of enhanced antiques, whether it is tucking old books back onto the shelves, after they have been toppled onto the floor, and picking up the toy train engine off the floor once more, left as if a young hand had been running it over the floor, just before one of us arrived in the room to interrupt play time. Our rustic cabin home is certainly not the age and quality of a typically appointed Hollywood style haunted residence, simply because the haunting isn’t about the past of the structure, as much as it is about the articles housed within. And it is at this time of the rolling year, Thanksgiving, that we offer a rather broad-sweeping expression of gratitude, to all of these articles and heritage toys, for being part of our Birch Hollow ambience, shared throughout the year; whether in the silence of the midnight hour, or at first light when the sun glow bathes down across the shelves and tables where many of the pieces are on display for all our expectations of a pleasurable, rewarding relationship. We are with them in the fearful moments of a great thunderstorm raging off the lake, to the evenings when the firelight from lanterns and the hearth animate the old dolls and Teddy Bears, reminding us so subtly about their respective histories; and the many hands they held in imaginary scenarios with unsettled children; who would come to find solace during tumultuous times, clutching close their special friends, as if, yes, they were as human in heart and soul as themselves. There is a trace of sadness that the cycle of life has ended relationships, and fond stewardships of once, yet at the same time, it is of great comfort to us, as it has always been, that we can carry on a curatorial relationship, reverent always, of the rights and privileges of those who chose to haunt, and those who are willing to be “haunted.” We enjoy their company, and we do very much benefit from their strange inspirations that come often when we find ourselves of lesser motivation and daily ambitions to carry out the latest chores. As a writer, I can’t imagine living without these wonderful companions of history, as I do very much enjoy their input, however gentle or mischievous their message may arrive, overlapping other situations, and characteristics of a desired lonely vigil at my writing desk.