Why Is "The Old Dark Blue" The "Old Dark Blue" in Old New England - Part One - "All About Anyway"

Why Is "The Old Dark Blue"

The

"Old Dark Blue"

in

Old New England

Part One

"All About Anyway"

            If you have read the title of this note (blog post) then... you know more of... and about... this topic than the vast... “rest of them” including the ‘in New England’.  And... from reading the title... you now know ‘something’ about old New England “china” too.  It is a ‘JUST a LITTLE’... ‘know something’.

            But that’s enough for a ‘your start’.

            I know all about it (‘The Old Dark Blue’ in ‘The Old New England’).  I had an early start so let me start you back there and... come along from back there... and then too... you may come along.  Again: the subject is “The Old Dark Blue” in “The Old New England”.  Don’t worry:  Some people already know EXACTLY what I am writing about.

            When I was six... or five... but probably not four... I would walk up to the end of a street... that was “up past” The Common... in my (Maine, New England) village.  I walked with my Grandmother... every day, at early evening... all year round including the winter season.  It was not a ‘long’ walk or a ‘hard’ walk.  We, together, would just walk... “up and back”.  That was it.  Sometimes we’d talk.  Sometimes we wouldn’t.  We didn’t have any dog on a leash or something like that.  I suppose I was the ‘dog’ on the ‘leash’.  I’m not sure because I never ran off; the ‘a leash’ never ‘got tight’.

            After about two or three years of this walk; one day... ‘starting back’ at the end of the street where we always ‘turned around’... we were walking back

            Past a house that was then (late fall) “closed up” and “IS BEING SOLD”.  Too.  The former happened to all houses that were ‘summer places’ of the owners (the house’s “PEOPLE”).  The latter is what happened to these houses after the ‘people’ (owners) “died off”.  So what was happening at this house right then was “NOT” unusual; the house was ‘closed up’ and ‘being sold’.  So we would ‘walk by” that house during all this ...too.  My grandmother would call all of this a “we walked by the **** place”.

            “Oh.  They’re selling that you know.”

            “Yes.  I wonder what will happen to it.”  My grandmother would say.

            Well... she knew damn well what was going to happen “to the place” but never told me any of that.  She knew “the **** place” was going to be ‘cleaned out’ and SHE would be the one doing that cleaning out if SHE had anything to... well... very few ever ‘beat her’ on this; cleaning out... old houses.  But she never told me that.  Either.  I just walked up and down the sidewalk beside the street with her.  Then... the one late fall afternoon... when this place was closed up and being sold... and we were walking by... my grandmother left our usual sidewalk trail and skirted (literally in her skirt) across the front yard of the ‘closed up’ and ‘being sold’ ‘place’ to the ...front screened-in porch surrounding the front door.  She peered through the screening for a few minutes adjusting her view ever toward the left side where ‘the door to the porch’ was (on the left side).  I didn’t care what she was doing and saw nothing of interest to me at all... but ...trailed along behind her.  She was looking IN the screened-in porch but I was too small to do that.  Too.

            When we reached the front end at the left, where the porch went ‘back to the house’ and ‘had the door’... my Grandmother... peeked along that screen work too until she came to the screen door... that was latched from the inside; ‘closed’.  She peeked... then peered... ‘in’ there too.  Then she looked down at me... loyally standing next to her.  I looked up at her.  Her right foot went forward and kicked the lower right rectangle of the screen door and... there was there... a screen section that was very loose... while the other sections of the door were not loose... because this section was used ‘by their dog’ to ‘go in and out’ from the porch to pursue and ‘bark at’ people walking by on the sidewalk... ‘during the summer’.  We both knew this because we, too, endured these ‘go in and out’ “all summer” “bark at” of the ‘their dog’.

            My grandmother, after looking at me and kicking the loose screen, turned her view back upon the inside of the screened porch.  She said to me... jabbing her finger at the upper screen to emphasize that she spoke about INSIDE the porch... “GO (crawl through the dog’s screen door hole) in there and fetch me that pot in there; that BLUE one.” Then she turned and walked off back to and ‘down’ the sidewalk along the street.

            I could see the blue pot she ‘wanted me to get’.  It was ‘in there’ (the porch)... on a table.  Dirty.  A dirty blue pot on a dirty old table with some dead and dirty old ‘plants in pots’ too.  I could see it.  NO PROBLEM.  So I went in the dog’s door and ‘fetched it’ like I was told too.  And came back out the dog’s door.  And followed rapidly after my grandmother who was ‘pretty far down’ the street ‘already’.  I scampered after her... clutching the blue pot.  As I caught up to her... I actually... and I remember this concisely... looked at the blue pot:  I remember this clearly... looking at it... as I scampered.  It... was the old blue pot that my Grandmother told me to ‘fetch’ for her.  I did that and am now remembering looking at it and, superficially, wondering ‘what is it?’.  Well... I know now what it was (is). This was the first time that I ‘know’ I ‘saw’ and ‘handled’... “The Old Dark Blue”.  My grandmother was no idiot when it came to ‘fetching’.

            Exactly what the ‘blue pot’ was (is)... IS... A...

            Sugar bowl bottom missing its top (lid).  An Old Dark Blue... sugar bowl bottom... with old chips at all edges, broken and ‘old glued’ handles, old wandering spider web darkened ‘hairline’ ‘cracks’ and actual holes letting light in and leaking a contents out...:  An Old Dark Blue American Historical Staffordshire (earthenware) (“soft paste”) transferware “china” sugar bowl with a decorative historic scene showing “General” Lafayette visiting Benjamin Franklin’s “tomb” and reclining there amid the foliage and self reflections of his... for his... old friend.  In 1824.  This is a well known (“common”) (American Historical) “SCENE” to “collectors”

            “OF THIS” (The Old Dark Blue).

            I do not remember caring a hoot about the ‘that’ of ‘WHAT” “IT” “IS”.  But... I handed “IT” off to my grandmother and

            NEVER, ever, have ‘forgotten’ “IT”.

            My Grandmother gave “IT” a courtesy look while gripping this old blue pot with one hand.  Then... the pot disappeared from my sight for, well... maybe as long as a decade.   Yes:  Ten years.  Oh... it was ‘around’ in my Grandmother’s “STUFF” but I did not... handle and examine... “IT”

            For ten years.  Probably.  Did she know ‘what it is’?

            SHE absolutely KNEW exactly... when she saw it through the screen at the porch.  She had, I know now, “spied it” well before I went in the dog door.  All that... was just a need to “act”.  What she did... and asked me to do... is ...calmly... referred to as ‘a rescue’.  It is a “done” when that is the best way to... rescue... an antique from ‘being lost or destroyed.  If that is new to you... I advise that after a half century of ‘doing them’ it becomes ‘a nothing’ and a ‘right thing to do’ with ‘everyone’ (antiquarians) knowing about “HAVING” to “DO THIS”.

            Yes... that’s a way of looking at old china... isn’t it.  And yes it is a ‘deeper than that’ ... as the reader may be sensing... TOO.  That’s why I’m writing this down for you:  IT IS a ‘deeper’; this Old Dark Blue... Staffordshire... china... in Old New England.

            I... when I creeped out the dog’s door... had become... smitten... forever “WITH” The Old Dark Blue.  I did not know this for ‘at least’ ten years.  But when I found out I had “NO PROBLEM” being that; an Old Dark Blue Smitten.  My grandmother was a ‘long ago before you were born’ smitten.  She told me that... probably twenty-five years after the dog’s door creep.  My mother was smitten too.

            With the Old Dark Blue.

            What I have said (through my years at this) to the... any party’s inquiry... is that, simply, if one starts out with the old dark blue the way I did (creeping through a dog’s door)... you never forget ‘IT’ at all... ever... every time you see it anywhere ever no matter what and

            One tends to be around other people who know all about this too.  All about WHAT?

            All about ‘broken’ ‘old’ ‘china’ from the New England Federal settlement era; especially the Old... Dark... Blue

;            And its heritage in Old New England.  Heritage?  That is, for example, how my grandmother gripped the old sugar bowl bottom with her one hand when she... took it away from me.  And any behavior like that silent gripping.  She never told me any of this.  I had to find out for myself.  And I did.  IF... THEN... you want the ‘you will too’... you will too... have to do it... that way.  You will also... once you start on the ...Old Dark Blue... in Old New England... gather fellow travelers about you... soon enough.  

            I did not “start” or ‘know’ anything about this for ten years after my ‘first piece’ of Old Dark Blue.  And that was not even ‘my piece’.  It was my grandmother’s:  SHE FOUND IT.  It was over ten years before I “FOUND” my “FIRST PIECE”.  And started to learn and understand what this (the old dark blue heritage) is

            All about

            Anyway.

The Turmoil

The Turmoil

            “The house is huge.  You know that.”

;            “Yes but...”

            “The ROOMS are huge.  And too many of them.  What do you do with all of them?

            The ceilings are HIGH; really high.  Someone could live up there; in that space.  You ever go up there?  On a ladder or something?  What’s that about:  You made them that way?  What are you thinking?”

            “Well... when the architects actually showed me their drawings I admit I didn’t understand their scale.”

            “Scale?”

            “Size.  It is all bigger than I thought.”

            “Watch your head.”

            “I always do”.

            “Your suppose to hit your head you know; it warns you your going inside.  Or coming out.  That’s why they made them (New England Colonial ‘cape’ doorways, especially the ‘back’ [north] doors) that way, low and small; to wake you up.  Make you tend to business.”

            “Tend to business?”

            “Yeah like remembering to close the door once your through.  No one ever leaves our doors open.”

            “Those are sliding glass doors.  They always leave them open.”

            “When you’re here.  Right now they are closed.  ‘CLOSED UP’ you call it.  Sliding glass closed up.”

            “Well we could open them.”

            “But your not going in there now.”

            “No, no... not this trip.  I just want to get the mast figures.  Take them down to the shop.  They wanted as much of the original paper drafts as I can find.  There’s a big bag of it.”

            “It’s heated in there isn’t?”

            “That shop’s always heated.  HOT in there actually.”

            “No.  Not the shop.  Your house.  It’s heated.  Right now.  The heats on.  Right?”

            “Of course it’s on.  But not much.”

            “What’s much?”

            “They keep it a fifty.”
            “Who’s they?”

            “The men who check the house.”

            “In this weather I figure I’m doing well if my house is fifty.  Touches forty overnight.”

           “Yeah but your house is a whole different thing.  You live in a log cabin compared to me.

            “Maybe you should get her an apple ladder to put in the ceiling space.”

            “Apple ladder?”

            “A ladder for picking apples.  An ‘old Maine tool’ in the classic sense.  All farms had one.  Maybe even three.  To put in an apple tree to pick the apples.  They’re an old Maine orchard tool.  I find ‘em in barns.  Or used to.  Most have been scalped off these days.  Already on display in someone’s high ceiling.  You know:  LOFT.”

            “They’re just a ladder?  What makes ‘em an apple ladder?”

            “Taper at the top.  Wishbone.  START normal ladder at the bottom then tapers down to nothing at the top.  To fit around the branches.  Really very nice.”

            “Nice?”

            “To look at.  With the taper.  Old wood.  Old surface.  Some can be really handsome.  An old set of three.  Good old ones.  That’s what you need.  Everyone will say something.  Cost you a little.  Actually... cost a nothing to you.  Wife like’s em.”

            “My wife likes them?”

            “She will.  My wife likes ‘em.  Can’t fit ‘em in our house.  Put ‘em out in the barn a few days and then sell ‘em.  Good ones sell good.  No problem.”

            “No problem?”

            “Yeah there’s always someone like you around with space for ‘em; the high ceiling set.”

            “High ceiling set?”

            “Same as the sliding glass door set.”

            “Same set?”

            “Keep the house at fifty set.”

            “I don’t understand you”

            “I don’t expect you would.”

            If the people ‘like that’; ‘from away’, buy an old Maine house on an old Maine lot that was once part of an old Maine property... and... tear it down in total or just ‘fully renovate it’... do I need them?

            Yes.  I do.  As an antiques dealer.  There is always a chance they will ‘get serious’ about furnishing their home-of-their-doing (“summer place”) with antiques

            They buy from me.

            After that and otherwise... most things do not draw us together.

            I cut my own firewood, haul my own firewood, store my own firewood and burn my own firewood.  I never ‘get enough’ and ‘always run out’.  That is the way it is.  The big house folk buy their firewood; hardwoods in split professional uniformity, and ‘have it stacked’

            In the garage.

            Never stack firewood in a garage... and who has a garage anyway.

            I burn all my firewood up all the time.  That’s what it’s for.  The big house has the same stack of firewood in their garage

            For years.  Sometime they use some sometimes for a fire sometime... on, like, a cool day of July rain.  “The fire feels nice”.  They say.

            I have one snow shovel... and a backup in case the wife suddenly wishes to ‘join in’.  That never happens.  Big house folk have their house ‘plowed’, ‘shoveled’ and ‘sanded’.  They are ‘not there’ and the house is ‘heated to fifty’.  I have a plow on a truck that I hope will start when I need it ‘to plow’ ...us out.  I hope, each winter, I don’t have to do that... much.  I also don’t like it to get really cold.  The truck won’t start and I have to turn the furnace on; burn some oil to ‘keep the pipes from freezing.  If I don’t do that I run the risk of the faraway cold spots in our little house... ‘freezing up’.  I don’t like plumbing problems in the winter.  “No one does”.  In my little world.

            I park the truck at a certain angle in front of the barn doors where, there, the winter sun blasts its radiance... right on the hood of the truck so that... maybe... it will start... “around one-thirty in the afternoon”.

            “WHY DO YOU PARK THE TRUCK UP THERE?” the big house man asked me

            Before the storm

            When he came to “SEE” an apple ladder:  “THAT’S WHAT THAT IS.”  He, looking it over, said he “WILL TELL HER ABOUT IT”.  No sale.

            I’m used to that.

            He kept his dog in his car.  One of his (their) dogs.  We don’t have any dogs.  They are expensive.  A luxury.  A vanity.  Big House would like to let his dog ‘run’ here at my place but he knows it will go directly to the compost and eat its fill.  That’s why I have compost piles?  Yeah.  Sure.  That’s why.  His dog loves bacon grease.  Big House looked around in our (farm) yard.  I saw him look at the compost.  I could see his wheels turn.  Or maybe I saw his dog’s bowels churn.  Right?  Anyway; he’s got that figured out.

            Before he came over I ate a bowl of chicken soup for lunch.  We save the bones we generate; put ‘em in a bag in the freezer.  Every two weeks or so she make a broth (“soup”) of them and then I use that as a base for my lunch.  She puts in onions, celery and carrots.  I add some pulled chicken, a chicken leg if I’m lucky and some broccoli.  Piping hot... lunch.  Just before Big House cell calls to say

            He’s on his way.

            I need something in me to stand my ground.  Big House COULD actually buy something... but he has no idea WHAT that could be and neither do I.  So I have to ‘get ready’.  To ‘deal with that’.  You know what I’m talking about.

            We don’t have chickens.  Did once... for sixteen years.  Too expensive now:  A luxury.  A vanity.  Now.  There are so many ‘egg men’ around now I can get as many farm fresh eggs as I want all the time every time AND they still got “MORE”.  How many eggs do I eat anyway?  Not that many.  

Anyway:

            They say it’s farm fresh eggs.  They ain’t.  What that damn food they feed ‘em; that “layer mash” in the big feed store bags.  Yeah; that stuff.  They all feed ‘em that.  Got the feeder boxes.  Yeah:  What is that stuff.  Just think about it.  Use that and egg cost goes UP and ...what is that stuff... from the local feed store?  Really.  The whole little guy egg thing needs to be ‘looked into’ (think about it with a pencil and paper; you ARE loosing money):  And... if they eat ‘that’ do I want to eat ‘that’ too?

            “I don’t think so”.

            Big House is always talking about “EGGS” he “BOUGHT”.  You know; ‘bought local’.  Farmer’s market.  He gets himself a couple of “DANISH” too.  He likes those with the goo-gob of “raspberry jam”.  Awful lot of raspberries go to ‘jam’.  I like my raspberries fresh picked and mashed up in a bowl with just a... goo-gob of vanilla ice cream.  Not too much ice cream.  Pick the berries your self.  YOU AIN’T GONNA GET A TICK on you JESUS”.

            Okay tick:  Stay inside the big house.  Leave the Maine wilderness to Professional Mainers.

            At the boat yard, down by the shop, Big House’s boat is under the cover at the left; beside the shop.  “It’s being worked on”.  What’s being worked on?  Nothing.  What’s it need worked on?  Nothing.  Been ‘sailed’ in the water almost seven hours since he bought it six years ago.  So it always needs to be ‘worked on’.  Get it.  Too bad I can’t sell him some antiques to put on that boat.  His wife DOES entertain on it.  The boat HAS been used to ‘entertain’ they call it.  At the start of summer (Memorial Day) they ‘put it in’.  Then nothing happens.  THEN...:  All get in the dingy and go out and ‘entertain’ “ON IT” ‘in the harbor’ until it ‘gets dark’.  Then they go back to the big house.  It all makes sense.  Right?  I just want to get some money out of it.

            Big House always has to come in our house when he is the ‘come over’.  He agitates until he gets ‘taken in’.  Yep:  Agitates.  You know it when you see it with these folk:  NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT (us living like that).  “YOU REALLY DO LIVE LIKE THAT.” he told us.  Told all the from away folk too.  Back there; from away.  He’s in Connecticut.  The part of Connecticut that is part of Manhattan.  You know; everyday... back and forth.  “FARM FRESH EGGS” to that I say.  Anyway.  He ducks his head pretty good now and noses around.  Sniff’en the air.  Bread baking.  Two loaves.  Don’t go given HIM one.  Still to hot anyway.  “OH YEAH WE EAT THAT HOMEMADE BREAD all winter long TOO JESUS”.  He’s a courteous gent.  Knows good behavior when he’s in the enemy’s camp.  I told him:  “Living here.  FOR YOU:  This is just one long camping trip we’ve been on.  Over sixty years we’ve be ...just camping out.”  He sort of got it.  Brushing my teeth outside in the yard is a stretch.  He’s used to hovering over the sink with the hot water going ‘full’.  That’s the real truth here:  It’s a real lot of very small things that

            Creates the turmoil.

            Of course he could still buy something.

Summer Place - Part Thirty-Six

Summer Place

Part Thirty-Six

            What SHOULD happen to ‘Sophia’s desk’?

            At the current date; August, 2013, the near forty year old New England antiquarian collector’s mantra of John T. Kirk’s “Buy it ratty and leave it alone”... a chapter title found in his 1975 book “THE INPECUNIOUS COLLECTOR’S GUIDE TO AMERICAN ANTIQUES”... is a collector’s religion standard, a market place proven and a ‘no brainer’ for both New England antiques collectors and dealers .  Daily, these days, splendid ‘untouched’ New England antique discoveries are NOT ‘fixed up’.  They are ‘not touched’.  They are very promptly protected from any and all of that ‘fixed up’ by the market.  The market continues without a waver to honor the ‘untouched’ with the most money and this keeps all others desires... scared away.

            At this moment... ‘Sophia’s Desk’ is ‘untouched’.  This means that physically the desk has come down through its time just as it ...has come down through its time.  It was bought... along the New England coast between... 1790’s to the 1815’s... ‘loaded aboard’ ship, ‘brought home’, used in the home by “Sophia”... for SIX (?) generations of ‘Sophia’s’.  It then attempted to follow a ‘last’ (?) “Sophia” to ‘assisted living’ and failed.  Its return to the ‘home’ was rejected and the desk was ‘saved’ by the home’s caretaker taking it to his workshop’s storage shed where it remained ...until he died and his heirs ‘found it’.  They are now, after modest attempts at ‘selling it’... storing the desk under an ‘old cloth’ at the head of a garage bay at a modest suburban home.  The desk is ‘untouched’, ‘as found’.

            To the lay eye AND many antiquarian eyes... the desk is... ‘it needs work’.. to make it ‘living room ready’... for... WHO?  Those people do not count anymore; the market removes them with the word ‘untouched’ followed with a ‘flood’ of ‘cash’.  The only attack force that “COULD be one” is the ‘full makeover’ ‘restoration’ group who... ‘would pay’ for such a ‘wreck’ to accomplish the ‘there’s a lot there already’ sophistication ...opportunity.  THEY will increase the price (the value) of the ‘untouched’ desk with their interest.

            “Ratty” adjusts to ‘untouched’.  This PHYSICAL state of the desk is protected by cash.  From there this physical ‘untouched’ gathers further aura; further aura of the ‘untouched’.

            The first aura halo is the stark realm that there simply are NOT many... or ‘any’, ‘untouched’ New England sea captain’s wife’s Tambour desks ‘around’.  MOST ALL have been ‘found’ and ‘fixed’... for 150 plus years.  A desk like ‘Sophia’s’ was attracting notice as ‘old’ by the 1850’s.  They were, back then... being fixed.  VERY FEW escaped this attention... over the centuries.  To have a desk ‘just sit there’ in a coastal Maine sea captain’s mansion... was (is) a rare occurrence QUICKLY noted as ‘a rare survival’.  ‘Untouched’ ‘Sophia’s Desk’ is intensely singular.  Touched ...in anyway at all including such lunacy of, for example, one of the H&W couples endeavoring to do a “FIX IT” “THAT” with a ‘glue gun’, et al...;  “YIKES” in addition a trailing off into plunging darkness “NOOoooooo”.  Under the old cloth in the garage... it has a wonderful aura halo... ‘intact’.  TRY and find ‘another one’.  TRY IT... and get back to me.  The rule?  IF Great Grandmother gives one a New England Federal period Tambour desk... LEAVE IT ALONE; leave it just the way SHE GAVE IT TO YOU. SHE (Great Grammy) didn’t fix it and one should SEND HER a thank you note for ‘doing that’.

Put the desk in your living room ...just the way you received it... and if a visitor says “AREN’T YOU GOING TO GET THE TAMBOURS FIXED?” say “No.”.  If needed, add that it was your grandmother’s, grandmother’s, grandmother’s desk and that is ‘exactly the way I inherited it’.  If conversation continues about the condition of the ratty desk in the living room, the home’s visitor should be... as politely as possible... for being one’s unenlightened visitor ...be... politely informed... that... ‘they don’t know what they’re talking about’.  It is well understood that even saying that ‘fixing them’ (the Tambours) will ‘destroy the value’ of the desk... will NOT GET THROUGH so... reconcile oneself by knowing that... THANK YOU... the visitor will most probably never have a piece of art to destroy ‘anyway’.  Past using the first one word response of ‘No’, ‘don’t even bother’ to continue the rest of the conversation UNLESS ...they... ‘get it’ about the ‘things from my grandmother’ ...THEY HAVE... that, among those things... ARE a something that IS ‘GOOD’ to the antiquarian realm.  “MOST” of most people’s “from my grandmother” ‘are not good’.  Rest assured on this point and BET ON IT.

Once one has had one’s stomach stapled on the physical ‘untouched’ aura halo found hiding in New England decorative arts AND their resulting premium cash value...  Once one has... from this stapled state... uttered defensive and balanced declarations... in the living room of one’s own home... about the ‘things’ ‘from my grandmother’... that one is found to be protecting from destruction... one gets the hang of it and the radiance of the aura of knowing ‘I’m right’ becomes a warm glow throughout one’s home.

Enhancing this aura halo is another aura halo:  “IT’S HISTORY”.  That is, the HISTORY of the antique ‘untouched’.  Here, aside from one big point, we have very clear “HISTORY” about Sophia’s desk.  This whole tale planted a garden of seeds of history about the desk and those blossomed into a variety of historic fact... tale... lore and... aura; an aura halo TOO, around the desk.

What is the big ‘aside’ point?  It is that NO ONE knows this history about the historic setting of the desk at all.  There is no ‘written down’, no tale told, no ‘publication on’, no ‘lecture tonight’, no museum tour, no... one.. but... my grandmother ...and I.  NO ONE knows about the desk or the history of the desk or ANY THING ELSE about ANY OF THIS.  NONE THE LESS, this aura halo of and about the desk; it’s ‘history’ IS WONDERFUL and greatly enhances ‘Sophia’s Desk’.  It should be merged with the physical desk ‘untouched’.

And... the physical ‘Captain Merritt Kimball’s sea captain’s mansion... now a ‘summer place’.  THIS, too, IS an aura halo TOO ‘about the desk’.  A very grand and prominent aura halo.  A mere side glance of the ‘driving by’ at the ‘estate’ ‘up there’ assures even the most lay that “IT”; the mansion, IS an aura halo... itself.  Have I yet gone to ‘see’ if the front room furniture ‘is there’; to see if there... is there too... a table upon which a ‘Sophia’s’ Roger’s Group rested white she wrote her letters at the ‘Sophia’s Desk’?

No.  I’ll get to it.  But... I fear that those rooms when entered will have... only new ‘summer people’ furniture in them with the original Kimball ‘sold with the property’ furniture LONG GONE (several ‘summer people’ owners ago).  The best I hope for is it was ‘stuffed in the barn’.  The worse is ‘taken off by their caretaker’ to ‘get rid of’ ‘then’ (twenty-five years ago) and ‘sold’.  Oh ...I’ll find out... why not?

If one takes the desk and its aura halos to the ... wider realm of New England decorative arts study... one does have a study.  A weekend seminar.  A publication.  An ‘it’s beautiful’ (desk, history, mansion).  Or just cart the whole wagon load down to the local historical society and let THEM run up the flag?

Or do nothing.

Say noting.

Why would one do that? 

We come back to the very beginning of this tale.  I will do and say nothing because...:

            “Growing up under the antiquarian tutelage of a grandmother who would “set off” from her kitchen table with a rubber banded “roll of money” at the slightest sign that a …takeover… by summer people of “an old place” or preferably “old sea captain  ****’s PLACE has “schooled me” in the very subtle trademark traditions of this whole… Maine… romance.”  (Part One, paragraph three).

            I am ‘schooled me’.  I live ‘in the very subtle trademark traditions of this whole ...Maine... romance’.  It is the romance that is the last and most fleeting of the aura halos found with the desk.  This halo is the tradition of the Maine romance.  For fifty years I have lived here within THIS aura halo surrounding all the other aura halos; the desk, the mansion, the Kimballs, the Parkers, Sophia, the wrecker’s daughter, the punch bowls, the tea service, the chest, Mr. Simon’s barn, the platter, my grandmother’s estate, Charles’ workshop, the casts of visiting players and ...my grandmother’s ghost.  This aura halo of romance is a pure New England haunt passing... that should go on... ‘untouched’.

The End