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SBXP — Day Thirteen; Ray

Last summer, a little less than a year ago, now, a man that we had grown up with committed suicide. It was apparently a very gruesome sight, which had been described to me in vivid detail.

I’ve mostly put it out of my mind, but it felt like there was so much that kept reminding me what had happened.

I’ve been cleaning a house for six weeks. This house is across the street from two houses I grew up in. One of those houses, Ray lived in too. It hurts every time I look at the house.

I know I can’t change anything, or do anything different. I know exactly what type of abuses this young man suffered at the hands of his step father; the same abuse all his siblings suffered at their step father’s hands.

We reported the step father. We offered shelter to the neighboring kids as much as we could.

But he was still such a happy go lucky seeming child. I remember him raving about starfox and playing that game over and over. I remember so many things, including every time I waited on him at Rite Aid, and never told him a thing; just waited on him like he was everyone else.

He was my brother’s best friend growing up. Then, puberty hit, and they ended up hating the other because of one abusive girlfriend.

I know I can’t change anything. I know it was a combination of circumstances, his biological father’s death from cancer, his mother’s diagnosis of cancer, probably a lot of other things too.

That doesn’t mean that every time I see that green house, it doesn’t make me think of him, youthful, and carefree, playing N64 with his little brother.

I just wish the way I remembered him was more of the truth.

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SBXP — Day Twelve; I have been better.

I feel like I am dying, right now. I am on a slew of new medication for various newly diagnosed medical conditions. I always wonder when I’ll win the lottery, but in reality, I won the invisible disease lottery.

This new medicine is supposed to “change” my “life”. I’ve heard that before, when I was first put on topamax. It did change my life; my memory is now shot, and I stutter.

It was supposed to all revert, and mostly it did, except my memory, and a slight stutter.

I guess it happens.

So, I am on bed rest, for a few days. I will post when I have some energy, but that absolutely isn’t right now.

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SBXP — Day Eleven; Berry Hill Con’t

My parents and I moved across the country three days before my eighteenth birthday. This was a measure of control on their parts, as I would probably had just left. I refused to move, refused to pack, and for it, a lot of my stuff was also left behind.

If I could go back and redo it, I wouldn’t had moved, at all. My life gained nothing by moving across country.

When we moved back, I also didn’t want to move back, tired of all the running from problems or back to a place and time where my parents could relive their “golden era”.

We ended up moving back to a small town, with which had no diversity, no tolerance, and tormented me at a very developmental age, to now.

I’ve held jobs from one edge of this town, to the other, and the only thing I’ve learned is most people suck. They’re petty, intolerant, close minded, short sighted, drug addled

Monsters.

I don’t really leave the house, anymore. Unless I am with my partner.

I can’t talk to my parents, or brothers without them causing drama. And so I am better off just living in this little bubble I have up here.

Its safe, and no one judges me, here.

Its a bit hard to explain. I’m not bitter, or angry, I’m just tired of wasting time and energy on people around here. And thats okay.

So, what do I do? I clean, or craft, or read. I collect, I dream, I be.

I have started cleaning a neighbor’s house. She’s usually never there when I clean, though, so I get to spend time with her puppies.

When we do talk though, its fun. She’s actually one of the few intelligent people I know.

As is probably apparent at this point, I am very fond of old things. I watch old TV shows, listen to old radio programs, read old, obscure authors, or collect old photos.

Part of me wonders if I was born in the wrong era, though another part of me thinks I would have been tortured, and burnt at the stake.

This photo is from the Berry Hill book barn. That place is probably one of my favorite places. Super cheap books, old, limited am edition and out of print.

The books they sell are time capsules. We’ve found books published pre WWII that have to do with ‘not doing business with Hitler’ or books in the late 1800s about the greatest scientific findings at the time.

You can’t really just find books like this, anymore, because they are out dated, and will never be published again. But they serve as great source materials for writing timed pieces. These books are usually in the $0.25 to $2.00 range.

But at this store, they also have some binders up front. They are filled with old photos, playbills, head shots of classic actors, local postcards.

This store really has everything.

Every time I go there I try to pick up at least one old photo.

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SBXP — Day Ten; Of Children and Cassandra

When I was fourteen, until the time I was eighteen, the only thing I ever wanted was to be a mother. When I was finally old enough to decide this, I ended up with a stray cat. She was the runt of a litter of four. The other three cats were half oscat, and male. The kitten I ended up with was a tortie shell, and female.

My parents had been trapping the wild cats, which would live in the drop down ceiling of our cellar , and giving them away to stop the spread of ferals. By the time this litter was born, we were a month away from moving across the country, so my parents didn’t even bother.

But one kitten kept falling from the ceiling, and unto the floor of our cellar. She was put back, multiple times, before we realized the mother had been trying to abandon her.

I’d always wanted a cat, and so I decided I would keep her. My mother and partner agreed, though I was later told they were expecting the other to say no, when they agreed. They further agreed because neither expected her to survive.

She was foul tempered, and refused to eat anything other than turkey, which actually took us a week to figure out. We started with an eye dropper, but she quickly took to hard food, because her mother never really fed her.

She was the thing that was missing in my life, and after caring for her, the idea of children simply didn’t interest me.

She did survive, for thirteen years, two months shy of fourteen. We lost her on new years day, of 2018.

I have a really hard time talking about her death, and it may have actually traumatized me.

Her whole life, she acted like she hated me. But when she understood what was happening, she just wanted to be near me.

One day I may be able to think about her without crying, but that time is very obviously not today.

This photo reminds me of a time I may have wanted children. A time when I was so much younger, and with so much more ambition.

That ambition is mostly gone now, and I consider myself blessed if I don’t have an anxiety attack, at some point during the day.

I still love children, and get along better with them than most adults. But I am glad, at the end of the day, for my time to be my own.

This photo is one of the large collection of pictures acquired during the Hillsville Gunshow/Fair. I don’t really have an age for it, but I would imagine its from the 40s or 50s. The clothing looks to be older, but the frame and photo seem too modern to be anything earlier than 1930.

Still, it is a great photo, one which the mischievous, yet mostly behaved personality of the children leaps off the page. I adore their smiling cherub faces.

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SBXP — Day Nine; Secret Angel

I try especially hard not to get sucked into purchasing antique photography, online. I am afraid if I start doing that, my obsession will literally bankrupt us.

I do enjoy the strolling around an antique store, the discovery and accomplishment I feel upon finding an amazing photo that was looking for its forever home.

But, sometimes, I do spot a photo or lot online that is entirely irresistible.

I have considered getting huge lots of photos, before, but I feel it would cause my carefully curated collection to bloat, and not be as special as it is.

But, sometimes, photos just speak to you, and there’s not a stitch you can do but surrender to its will.

This charming young woman enchanted me. Her crooked gaze, and perfect features overwhelmed me.

I felt I knew her, knew her story, beginning to end. And it was a story that I needed to tell.

She died, unwed, in labor. She was surrounded by most of her family, save her father, who could not look at her, due to her indiscretions.

Her features, in this photo, were the same ones, frozen and immortalized forever, because of this one photo her family took of her, upon her death.

There was only one copy, and it sat in a drawer, forgotten, for forty years. That is until her father, on his death bed, pleaded someone fetch him the photo, so that his only daughter, his secret angel, could be looked upon as he passed.

On his lips, he whispered an apology, so his secret angel could know that his desertion of her, in her time of crisis, was his only true regret.

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SBXP — Day Eight; Treasures Cove

We spent some time in the Blacksburg area, last year. This was really just a way to check out the campus, at Virginia Tech. The campus was far more massive than I had expected, and I was expecting it.

The student body at VT is actually 19 times the population of the small town I live in, for reference.

The buildings were towering old brick and mortar, edged out with ornately decorated limestone.

When we went, we had caught the students at lunch time. They were swarming around with the focus of worker ants. Some road bikes, some jogged, but all clearly had singular focus.

There are several antique, and thrift stores in the area, and I know we hadn’t hit them all. The place I got this photo was called Treasures Cove.

We arrived a few minutes before their closing time, which I always hate to do to anyone. The owner let us in, and urged us to take our time, as he was in no hurry.

There was a lot to look at, a lot of glass and crystal, some militia memorabilia, a scant few tin toys, and dolls.

The aisles were lined with locked glass cabinets, which were all fairly tidy and fingerprint-less.

Mostly I remember the kindness of the owner, his charm, his low prices, and his willingness to help us with any questions we might have had.

This picture caught my eye because of his striking similarity to one of my uncles, even down to the vacant look in his eye, and stylish mustache.

Though, I do believe this photo is post-mortem, I am not positive. I notice things like the post positioned behind the man, that looks to be some kind of coat rack. I think it might be something used to prop up this man, so they could manage a photo as lively as they could.

I also notice the little dabs of gold paint used to adorn the man’s attire and make the photo more lifelike.

Old photography had such strange tricks to capture the desired effect. Its why I find these pictures so intriguing; the lengths people went to create something that was special, and the sheer ingenuity involved.

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SBXP — Day Seven; Night Terrors & Day Dreams

I meant to post, yesterday, but fell very quickly asleep. Sleep is hard for me, so I took it as the small blessing that it was.

Even though it ended up backfiring. Typically, when I sleep soundly, I suffer from night terrors. Last night was no different.

The topic of the dream is typically irrelevant. I’ve had horrifying dreams that saw me feeling rested in the morning, and dreams that were totally G rated, that have scared the ever living shit out of me.

I always dream that I am a guy, which is pretty much how I see myself, so its not that jarring. I’m told this is pretty uncommon, though.

The dreams I had last night were about alien abduction. Those usually scare me the most. Why the topic of alien abduction is so uncomfortable for me, I’m not exactly sure.

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This picture was found in Owego, NY. We only hit one of the antique stores in Owego, and I will definitely be going back. There were a few things that I wished I had gotten, but I only had so much to spend. I ended up with 14 very amazing photos.

Usually I am happy to come up with my own story about the people in the photos, but this one is different. There is so much detail to notice, here, from the expressions, to the things that adorn the men.

My favorite thing in this photo is totally the unhappy child in the front row. He gives me this Denis the Menace vibe.

The two men in the front look so chummy, and I am curious how deep their relationship was.

The man in the bowler, and the one with the pipe beside him? So fun.

These old pictures bring me a lot of joy, and collecting them has really brought out a passion I didn’t think that I was capable of.

The Owego store was teeming with booths from all different vendors. There was such amazing stuff but most the price range was pretty out of reach.

I did find an empty antique photo album for under $10, and I really fought with myself about getting it.

It was pretty damaged, though. The binding wasn’t holding any of the pages in place, and I didn’t think that was anything that I could fix.

Maybe if its still there the next time I visit.

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SBXP — Day Six; Hillville Con’t.

The Hillsville fair was a fairly unique experience. I carried Gaius around with me, the entire time; he refused to walk.

I understand why; the whole fair was along one of the few main roads in Floyd County. The later it got, the more trafficked the road was. You could tell it was a main road because of all the diesel trucks and tractor trailers that used the road.

The fair was fine when we arrived. It was still early enough that the ground was covered in dew, and there was a light mist about the air. As early as we arrived, there was already no parking; though I imagine that was due to the incredible number of vendors, as we were the only viewers present for a number of hours.

The later the day got, the higher the sun rose. Luckily I had slathered myself in sunscreen, since sun is my natural worst arch-villain. Gaius didn’t seem to fuss much about the sun, but the nicer out it got, the thicker the crowds.

I’m pretty avoidant, so the crowds weren’t cool for me, either.

They were vendors selling fair food; deep fried crocodile, deep fried snickers, deep fried Oreos... anything and everything you could deep fry. The vendors were also selling bottled water at astronomical prices, so I was glad we had brought our own.

We are planning to go back, this year. I won’t bring the cat, but I will bring a bag to carry stuff in.

There was no rhyme or reason to the booths; random junk, guns, t-shirts & apparel, vintage metal signs, knock off brand grocery products.

It was a salvager’s paradise, and we missed over 50 % of the fair.

I was surprised, though, by the sheer number of different vendors and wholly different products. But, in reality, we bought very little. I did get my old photos, whereas Ben bought his mini figures. We got two figures for Gaius, since he was so welled behaved; a carrot and a rocket.

The carrot is his favorite, and a year later, he still carries it around and bats it.

I was fairly surprised at how friendly and welcoming the people were , in general, as well as of Gaius. There were so many comments on how big and beautiful he was, how exquisite his coat was, and how soft he was.

The comments were nice to hear, but I didn’t need all that attention, and certainly not all that touching.

I am on the fence about going this year; on one end, I got an amazing deal on photos. On the other end, I only found one booth with photos, and nothing else remotely of interest.

Aside from that, the crowds were very discouraging. Crowds are a big deal to me. My anxiety and hackles go up, and I am immediately defensive. It will usually take me hours to calm down.

The photos I selected today, were photos from the large collection of photos I bought from the Hillsville fair. I picked them together because I thought by the same person, but when I looked at the back, they both different names; Myrtle Haines, & Mary Wible.

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SBXP — Day Five; I saw the Devil.

Our most recent trip that we went to led us to Owego. Again, I slept in the van while Ben worked, and slept very well. I apparently sleep better in vehicles than in a bed, for whatever reason.

We found this antique store, which was probably the biggest I have ever been to. I could tell before even entering, the prices would be staggering, and I wasn’t wrong.

The whole place took us two hours to scour. I found very little in the way of pictures, to begin with. I did find a bin of 50s snap shots, that were 2” by 2” for $8 a piece.

I looked at a few before noticing the ridiculous prices on them, and decided nothing was so interesting as $8 a piece.

I am not opposed to paying that much for an individual photo that speaks to me, but prefer to pick photos that are typically $2-3, $5 max.

The two hours seemed like it was a bust, until the very last booth. They had a bin of old military photos. I looked through them all and picked a few more than a dozen, to get. Overall, the trip cost about $40 for 14 pretty amazing photos, some a bit too modern for my liking, but still with tremendous character.

The photo today, it caught my eye because when I looked at the old woman in the rocking chair, I swore it was the face of the devil. It was a very jarring and surreal experience, and one I wished to remember, so we bought it.

I can’t quite capture what I see, old photos seem not to photograph well.

Do you see it?

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SBXP — Day Four; Hillsville VA

We having been visiting Floyd County Va for over ten years, now. Though we go every year, we typically only stay the night, so it hasn’t afforded us much opportunity to do much.

That changed last year. Last year, we decided that it would be too expensive to stay a week in Atlanta, for Dragon*con, which we had been doing since 2007. Not vacationing wasn’t really an option, as Ben looks forward to it all year, and doesn’t really do anything else for time off from work.

My anxiety has gotten considerably worse, since 2007, and it also makes enjoying Dragon*con tough, because I don’t ever want to spend more than a couple hours there.

So, due to money, and mental illness, Ben decided to deviate from our traditional plans. We decided to stay a week in Floyd, and one in the OBX.

The main reason I wanted to stay in Floyd was because every year we leave, they are setting up for an enormous flea market bazaar, over Labor Day Weekend. I wasn’t sure even being able to go was an option, due to the anxiety, so Ben suggested we should try it, and bring Gaius, my ESA.

It was the first time we had ever brought a pet on vacation with us, so I wasn’t positive it was going to be any less stressful.

Miraculously, Gaius is the most well behaved cat ever. He never fussed, or had any accidents the whole trip.

So, when we decided to try to take him to the Hillsville Flea Market Days, I thought it would be okay.

Mostly, it was.

It was an incredibly hot day, and the place was way more crowded than I was comfortable with. We did show up really early, to beat the crowds and heat. That was a good idea, but the place just had so many booths. Still, we didn’t ever get to half of them.

Gaius wouldn’t walk on his leash, so I did end up carrying him, the entire time. He’s not super heavy, but after a few hours, its a bit much.

Everyone loved Gaius, commented on his size, his beauty, his coat. More than that, everyone kept touching him, just walked right up and petted him.

Okay, that bugged me. Not just because no one asked, or because it was like everyone coming over to me to touch me, but — never NEVER touch an animal you aren’t familiar with, you put yourself and the animal in unnecessary risk.

He was mostly amazing though, until we hit the Lego table.

Gaius loves Lego Minifigures, and this table was filled with them. He -suddenly- wanted to get down and play, but of course he couldn’t, really. After a few minutes of that, he expressed his unhappiness, vocally, and I got away from the table to the booth across the way.

The booth had nothing interesting at it, that I could see, but it had shade, and I spotted a few tin types in a glass case.

I asked the man about them, and he had wanted some absurd price. I settled with Gaius and waited for Ben to come back. In the meantime, though, the attendant had asked me if I liked old photos, to which I replied “Yes”.

So, he went back in his vehicle and started pulling out banana box after banana box. I wasn’t really paying him much attention, at that point.

Finally, Ben finishes with the Legos and comes over, at which point we start to leave.

The man at the booth inquires if I am going to look at the boxes of photos he just got out, so I do, letting Ben handle the cat for a bit.

I ended up spending $50 for 42 cabinet cards, 4 tintypes, and one wet plate photo. I still think I got a solid deal, and estimated the man could have made several hundred dollars if he sold them individually.

Still, I was glad he sold them to me, and that all the events of the day led me to that booth, at that time.

This is one of the Cabinet cards I acquired, then.

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SBXP — Day Three; Cooperstown.

Ben had recently lost a co-worker. She had checked out a few months before, but had finally just made one too many no call, no shows.

Since no one was going with him, he decided to take me. He said that there was a Yellow Deli right on the way, and a few antique stores that he’d driven by, a number of times.

At this point, I have been hardcore collecting old photos for roughly a year, and am old hat at this game by now.

We always end up leaving really early, the days that I go with him. I typically pack the night before; some pillows, a blanket, devices and snacks. I always bring Pluto with me, as he is of great comfort, though I grab him in the morning, since I sleep with him, nightly.

Ben and I leave around 330am, me mostly miserable, as I hardly ever get any sleep on those nights.

I remember the drive down, so clearly. There was heavy, rolling fog, so dense you could hardly see 50 feet in front of you. I suppose I love the mountains; the beauty they have, the comfort they bring.

It was an amazing ride down, which I had expected to miss most of. I had planned on sleeping, on the way, but my mind was whirring, endlessly, battling demons, of a kind.

My head was throbbing, and I felt awful by the time we arrived, and I easily passed out in the back seat, once Ben left to inventory the store.

It took me a while to get comfortable, though this is nothing unexpected. Getting comfortable is always a struggle for me.

Though once I had— I was out like a log, and didn’t stir. Except, apparently, to answer the phone and talk to my biological father for an hour or so. Strangely, I remember the call, but I don’t remember the waking, or the eventual fall back into slumber.

My biological father has his own demons, too numerous to really get into, but the call sounded especially desperate. I remember the concern that the call evoked, and I did, later, shoot him an email, asking if he was okay. He said he was, but I doubt that. Nevertheless, I cannot help if he doesn’t ask.

Regardless.

After Ben finished the store, we were on the way to the Yellow Deli. It’s my favorite sub shop, and they have the best reubens. I also love their mango tea.

Contemplating if I were to try something new, or stick with my favorite, I spotted a large old factory, made of brick. It was right off the road, though it sunk down so you could only see the top floor, and a bright red white and blue flag that read ‘ANTIQUES’ in bold, waiving letters.

I quickly squealed, begging Benjamin to stop. He said we could, though we had to be mindful of time, as we had already called in the sandwich order.

Inside the place was huge; three full floors of antiques. The first floor had a white wooden ramp that lead down into the main floor, in which we were greeted by an incredibly friendly golden retriever.

I like to think I am good with animals; I must be as they mostly adore me. The large old pup did too, and followed me through the entire place. I joked to Ben that he was the security, and made sure we didn’t shoplift.

The thing I remember the most from the store is a booth with African masks. Each of them was stunning, and I would have bought everyone of them, if they hadn’t cost over $200 a piece.

The booths were all independently owned, and managed. I happened upon a tubberware bin full of photos, straight away. I scoured through them, and picked out a few. At this point in time I am searching more for interesting looking people, rather than pretty. I tend to be inclined more towards the pretty photos, but I really try to pick a good variety.

I hadn’t expected to find much more in the way of photos, most places only have so many. To my surprise, however, there were two more booths with pictures, one of which had an amazing family album, which was disappointingly out of my $20 price range.

The room in the front was set up like an early American bedroom, all quilted soft pinks and lace. The bed was iron, wrought in an old fashioned style, painted white, which was far too pristine to be original, though it was still stunning.

There was a gramophone in the corner, with a brass horn covered in a patina that was wholly unreal. Two end tables sat on either side of the bed, one with an antique fan, the other with an ancient, hardly in one piece, Bible. The Bible had giant calligraphy scrawled across the cover, stating plainly what it was so there would be no questions.

But none of this, nor the paintings on the wall, held my interest for long. On the bed, sat a hatbox. It was plain, and hardly much to write home about; I think it was navy in color. Inside the box, however, was a pile of cabinet cards, which my greedy hands could not touch fast enough.

On the top of the pile, almost set above the rest, was a picture with two boys, certainly siblings, possibly even twins.

I was besotted. I wouldn’t put it down. To this day it remains my favorite in my collection.

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SBXP — Berryhill

The first time I ever came across old photos was a few years ago, now. Locally, there is a small family owned business that runs a used book store out of their barn. The place is amazing; not only are the books wholly inexpensive, the place is full of character.

There is a chicken house right infront of the barn, surrounded by chicken wire, which is functional, though dilapidated. Inside the fencing is a small collection of speckled fancy chickens, and a black and white rooster.

The barn itself is a grey blue. There is a small room, that serves as an entryway, which usually houses the clearanced goods.

We were arriving for their annual booksale, where the already criminally inexpensive books are half price, making most the books under a dollar.

The clearance room had a small stack of photos, in a small grey box, priced one dollar each. I looked through the photos, and picked out four; two young men, one beautiful woman, and a girl. The pictures were originally intended to be the grandparents of one of my characters, Major Thom Rumur. Rumur is a very complex character, but to briefly summarize, and simplify; he is the Mad Hatter, meets Captain America, meets Jack the Ripper, meets Prince Charming.

We purchased the photos, and I stored them in one of my craft drawers for over five years, along with one other photo I had found at a garage sale of a mother and son Romany family.

They sat in that drawer, forgotten, and stagnant, for over five years.

This is one of the original four photos.

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The Shoebox Project is a way for me to share something that I love, and am very enthusiastic about. I'm hoping that others will enjoy the photos, as well as the blurbs about them that I publish. I plan on doing "A Photo A Day" posts, so as to not overwhelm you with everything that I want to share. This particular picture came from my family photos. My grandmother died back in 2008, and the estate had been in chaos for a very long time. There was a lot of resentment and anger towards my father, so the younger brothers banded together to refuse him anything. They went to the lengths of burning antiques, smashing marble tables, and leaving important memorabilia outside, in the rain. One of my uncles, the Executor of the Estate, died last year. When he passed, my father became the executor, to an estate in debt, in shambles, and destroyed. My uncle never paid any of the bills or taxes on my grandmother's home, which has accrued over $25,000 in back tax. My family is going to end up losing a home that was built by my grandfather, and its honestly a shame. Hatred and anger is a horrible thing. When my parents found out that I was collecting old photos, my mom eagerly wanted to help, and exclaimed there were many old photos at my grandmother's home. There may have been at one point, but they exist no longer. My dad, however, was hugely disappointed that everything had been destroyed, and scoured through the wreckage of the old garage, and the piles of junk my uncles had accrued. I am sorry to report that he did not find much, but he did find something. There was an old sewing box, likely pre 1940s. The box is pretty salvageable. Sitting out in the rain it acquired a lot of mildew that I cannot clean off. However, inside the box was a small stash of family photos, and documents, which had been saved the worst of the elements because of the battered box. This is one of the dozen or so surviving family photos.

Back of photo reads “Edward Furbish Cookenham”.