Wakefield

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  “In some old magazine or newspaper I recollect a story, told as truth, of a man—let us call him Wakefield—who absented himself for a long time from his wife. The fact, thus abstractedly stated, is not very uncommon, nor, without a proper distinction of circumstances, to be condemned either as naughty or nonsensical. Howbeit, this, though far from the most aggravated, is perhaps the strangest instance on record of marital delinquency, and, moreover, as remarkable a freak as may be found in the whole list of human oddities. The wedded couple lived in London. The man, under pretense of going a journey, took lodgings in the next street to his own house, and there, unheard of by his wife or friends and without the shadow of a reason for such self-banishment, dwelt upward of twenty years. During that period he beheld his home every day, and frequently the forlorn Mrs. Wakefield. And after so great a gap in his matrimonial felicity—when his death was reckoned certain, his estate settled...

Antiques

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The other day we took a short road trip (no more than two hours, tops) up some back-roads to Ridgeway, SC then on up to Winnsboro, SC. Not much to see in Winnsboro but the South Carolina Railroad Museum and a stop sign that holds your attention long enough to read the green sign that points left to "Columbia." A right turn will take you to a red light that, if you wait long enough to make a left turn, will take you to a little dive that serves greasy burgers and good southern fixins'.

Park in the dirt, step up onto the porch and in the door on your right and wait your turn to place your order in line past the tiny tables that, with ten people, completely fill the joint. Belly up to the counter that is no more than a shoulder-wide and tell the lady what you'll have. When she calls, grab your baskets and make your way out the door on the left and enjoy the sweltering summer heat that keeps the grease draining from your burger and nice cold tea. Or a Coke.

But if'n you stayed around Ridgeway, you'll discover along the city center no more than two city blocks long, a nice selection of antique shops that folks will make the drive from just about anywhere for. Yes, they have their regular customers. And if'n your tired, enjoy a sidewalk rocking chair. Or head on over to Laura's Tea Room at the end of the block for some refresh-mint (ladies, enjoy "High Tea" upstairs, but make a reservation).

I couldn't help but recall John Steinbeck's observation about New England antique shops from his book, "Travels With Charley: In Search of America."

Travels with Charley: In Search of America
"I can never get used to the thousands of antique shops along the roads, all bulging with authentic and attested trash from an earlier time. I believe the population of the thirteen colonies was less than four million souls, and every one of them must have been frantically turning out tables, chairs, china, glass, candle molds, and oddly shaped bits of iron, copper, and brass for future sale to twentieth-century tourists. There are enough antiques for sale along the roads of New England alone to furnish the houses of a population of fifty million." 

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